ireo ^ i Margaret Potter I "DO YOU WANT TO HAVE MURDER DONE HERE, IN THE HOUSE?" The FIRE of SPRING By MARGARET POTTER AUTHOR OF " UNCANONIZED," "THE HOUSE OF DK MAILLY," " ISTAR OF BABYLON,' "THE CASTLE OF TWILIGHT," "THE FLAME-GATHERERS," ETC. Illustrated by SYDNEY ADAMSON D. APPLETON AND COMPANY NEW YORK 1905 COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY Published February, 1905 TO THE THREE H'S 2137733 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS FACING PAGE "Do you want to have murder done here, in the house?" Frontispiece That child, the little, clinging, sweet-faced baby-thing . . . had become her anchorage .62 He caught her in his arms, and kissed her again . . 102 "You!" he cried 354 THE FIRE OF SPRING CHAPTER I IN 1895, seven years before the new Annex brought the Pompeian room into existence, there were, in Chicago, three or four popular resorts frequented by that small, but lucrative class of men who make a practice of knowing certain unclassed sides of city life. Of these places, none was more popular than the Wellington bar: the ante- chamber, accessible from Jackson street, to the sacred pre- cincts of private dining-rooms on the second floor of the hotel. In this large, square room, at noon, on the four- teenth day of March, there was a crowd larger than usual, drawn to conviviality perhaps by the vivid sunshine out- side and the hint of spring in the boisterous West wind. Round the bar there was the usual loud talk of La Salle street and the Board. But the subjects under discussion at the tables, were handled in discreeter fashion. For instance, in the corner nearest the hotel entrance, sat three men, two of whom, glass in hand, were drinking the health of the third, whose engagement had been an- nounced that morning. I = 77/ FIRE OF SPRING Charles Van Studdiford did not, perhaps, present the figure of the ideal lover. He was a man somewhere be- tween the ages of thirty-five and forty ; but the bald height of his forehead added five years or more to his appearance. The hair that began thinly at his temples and ran back to a thick fringe was of a reddish hue, reappearing three shades lighter in his close-cut mustache. He had an air of extreme neatness in his dress ; but his features were un- remarkable. The eyes were of a pale blue, almost watery, indeed; and few people knew that they could, when he wished it so, gaze very keenly, very deeply, into others. Nor was his figure one to attract attention, being short and stocky. And not many paused to reflect that that figure had been known, on occasions, to assume a dom- inant poise. One person, however, might be supposed to have no- ticed these good points, and any others there might be. For Charles Van Studdiford was certainly engaged. It had been the prize of the morning's society columns, which dilated at length upon the prospective union of posi- tion with wealth. It had been under discussion at many breakfast-tables. And now, here, in the heart of the " City," it rivalled in interest the new advance in May wheat. Charles Van Studdiford, the great plow-manu- facturer of Grangeford, the many times millionaire, to marry Virginia Merrill : a girl scarcely out of school, with two years of " teens " still to be gone through ; the daughter of a man once wealthy, but broken some time since on the wheel of speculative commerce that rolls so swiftly in this western Babylon. Charles Van Studdiford 2 THE FIRE OF SPRING = and Virginia Merrill! Many a Mother sighed as she linked the names. If any one had ever imagined that the man would prove susceptible, (and to that child!) the race had probably not been run alone. Van Studdiford sat at his table in the Wellington bar and smiled in some embarrassment as he acknowledged the toast of his friends. But he was, whatever his color, very well pleased with himself to-day. The last hour had seen the end of a disagreeable affair, which had been awaiting a conclusion for some weeks. Muriel Howard knew at last that she was permanently dismissed. At the end she had not behaved so badly. And now Charles was entirely free to devote himself earnestly to the little girl whose young, undeveloped dignities and vanities had so mystified and captivated him. As, dispelling the sur- rounding scene, he sat recapitulating the past, it pleased him to think that no one who had known his man's life could so much as suspect a certain side of him recently brought to light: that soft and tender, gently credulous side, in one who was always so much the man of business, the practical money-getter; who liked to drive a close bargain in affairs of the heart, as well as on the Board of Trade : the burly manufacturer, in whom, beside his fac- tory, fine horses had been the one other approachable in- terest. This was the man who was engaged to Virginia Merrill. As a matter of fact, at that very moment his two com- panions, both Chicagoans, and simply business acquaint- ances, were speculating vaguely on the self-same thing. Was it really possible that Charles Van Studdiford could 3 THE FIRE OF SPRING be in love with a girl ? with a young girl, of gentle birth and highest breeding, as unassailable by the coarser meth- ods as the women Charles had hitherto known would have been by the finer? Muriel Howard had, of course, never been wondered about. She was rather a sine qua non. The whiskey was finished. The conversation lapsed. Clearly some change must be made. As a preparatory signal, Van Studdiford looked at his watch. But by this act his idea received a check. It was only twenty minutes past twelve. There was more than half an hour still to be consumed somehow. He snapped his fingers at a waiter. " Come, have another. Yours, George ? " " Rye, straight, and a Lithia chaser." " And yours ? " indicating the second. " Let me have some Irish whis " " Oh ! " broke in Charles, suddenly rising. " Atkin- son ! I didn't know you'd come in town to-day ! " The others looked up, with pleasure in their faces. Philip Atkinson was shaking hands with his cousin and employer. Afterwards he greeted the other two and sat down in the vacant chair. The order was finished with the addition of two cocktails ; and then, instinctively, all three turned to the newcomer. Atkinson was smiling, agreeably, indulgently, at his cousin. He was supposed to be at the factory in Grange- ford, attending to his work: mysterious work, that changed frequently, as he tried first one branch and then another of Van Studdiford's great system. But he was perfectly willing to overlook Charles' stupidity in imag- 4 THE FIRE OF SPRING ining that he ought to be in any place rather than another in this great, vastly interesting world. In fact, Charles was already feeling apologetic for his momentary annoy- ance, as Philip very well knew. The other two men looked to him frankly for salvation from boredom. So he smiled again, and began to talk. Atkinson! Atkinson! Describe him? Who shall do it? Who ever perfectly comprehended the wondrous vagaries of his mind ? the rare talents chaotically crossed in him ? the poetry ? the instability ? the brilliance that too often became mere effervescence ? above all, over all, that subtle, indefinable fascination, that quivered from him like an aura, which men could no more escape than women wished to ? He was perfectly irresponsible. He was even perfectly untrustworthy, though of this he was entirely unaware. Long ago his two brothers, Leslie and James, sober, hard-working, patiently industrious men, had given up any hope of molding or restraining him. They were glad to relinquish him to the passionate affection of their sister, Madame Dupre, who in many ways resembled Philip, and to the tolerance of Van Studdiford, their cousin, from whose employ he had been three times dis- charged, and to which, after an interview or two, he had been as often taken back. Even through the lapse of years Atkinson cannot be truly estimated. His fascination veils him still, dims the faultiness, gives the whole a deceptive beauty. All this, however, was Philip in the aggregate. Seated at a table in the Wellington bar, intent upon as many cocktails as could be decently consumed in the half- 5 THE FIRE OF SPRING hour at his disposal, his romantic qualities were not, per- haps, so apparent, whatever the picture he presented. Cer- tainly he was handsome : remarkably so, with his smooth- shaven, clear-cut face, his dark hair, with the irrepressible wave in it ; his lustrous gray eyes, shaded by the blackest of lashes ; and the mouth in which there was, unaccount- ably, no smallest suggestion of weakness or sensuality. When he talked, his face took on a kind of bright boyish- ness. When he was silent or abstracted, his thirty-three years came out and stood upon his face, making him, to those who did not know him well, look strangely old : old with an age not so much of time as of bad living. But for those who liked him, this malevolent apparition was never visible. It was lost in fascination. At the moment he was smiling, delightedly, into his cousin's florid face : making his congratulations in a man- ner just a little spoiled by an habitual affectation. But nobody could have guessed that he was chagrined at hav- ing heard of Van Studdi ford's engagement that morning for the first time, through the columns of the Tribune. " Well, old chap, it's delightful ! How did you do it so quietly eh ? I hadn't an idea of it. Never seen her, but she's charming, of course." (The cocktail disap- peared.) "You are certainly the Oh! Fritz! Really, that was too bad. Fritz ! another dry Martini, and take these gentlemen's orders. Why, Charlie, I forgot your health ! " Van Studdiford smiled, indulgently. What a boy he was! But shortly the other two men, having finished their third drink, rose, shook hands, and departed toward 6 THE FIRE OF SPRING luncheon. At the same time Van Studdiford again took out his watch. " Philip, I'm to meet Mrs. and Miss Merrill at the An- nex, at one, for luncheon. Will you make a fourth? I'd like to have you see Miss Merrill." " Thank you very much. Really I um ah I shall be delighted, thank you." As a matter of fact, Philip had another engagement. At this moment, jupstairs, in dining- room " S," a young lady sat impatiently awaiting him. But Philip was really desirous of seeing Van Studdiford's fiancee; and Marcia could wait. She always accepted his excuses eventually. So the two paid their respective checks, each tipping the smiling Fritz, and started on their short walk down Michigan Avenue to the Annex. The sun was bright, the wind high and warm, and Philip's spirits rose. It was good to be free from work. It was good to be away from dull little Grangeford, even for a day. More. It was good to be alive, to have cocktails to drink, women to wait for one! It was " Phil," remarked his companion, dolefully puffing at a cigar, " I've got to go with 'em to the Thomas concert after luncheon. Woman's trick ! Won't you come along too? In the intermission, you know, we can get out, to- gether." " Oh, too bad; Charlie, but really I can't. I'm very sorry, really. Be charming, I'm sure um " He couldn't help a faint smile " but I have an engagement that I oughtn't to break. Got to see Ferguson about that ore, you know " 7 THE FIRE OF SPRING = " I've made arrangements to attend to that to-night," returned Van Studdiford, shortly. " But of course you needn't go. Don't excuse yourself." Atkinson was annoyed. He disliked discountenance above all things. It took a moment or two for him to re- cover himself. But after that he chatted, amiably, till they turned in at the Michigan Avenue entrance of the Annex. It was already five minutes to one ; and Van Studdiford hurried off to secure a table and order the luncheon, mean- time leaving his cousin to watch for the ladies at the door. Philip had never met either of them, but he knew Mrs. Merrill very well by sight, and lounged about the pillars near the elevator quite contentedly for a minute or two. Then, however, he perceived a man whom he knew. Two more cocktails were in prospect; and when Van Studdi- ford came back at three minutes past one, Atkinson was nowhere to be seen. The disappearance, however, was so in accordance with Philip's habits, that the host was not in the least surprised ; and, the ladies having not yet arrived, he seated himself in one of the great chairs by the door, to wait. Five minutes more went by. Then, as Atkinson reappeared from the direction of the bar, Mrs. Merrill and her daughter came in from the Avenue. There was a moment of greetings with Charles. Afterwards, instinctively, the three turned to Atkinson, who had withdrawn a little to the right. Van Studdiford made a formal introduction. Philip found himself bowing profoundly before a slight, pretty woman, with evenly waved white hair, gowned in the most unobtrusive style, carrying that gown as only women of 8 THE FIRE OF SPRING station can. She murmured a conventional word or two, and then herself presented her daughter, with whom Philip shook hands absent-mindedly, while he surveyed her: his cousin's fiancee. He was still occupied in this way when they started toward the dining-room, it being most natural that Van Studdiford should go first, with Mrs. Merrill, his cousin following with the young girl. Atkinson knew at once that Charles had ground for his infatuation, though he had not as yet marked details. Women were the paramount interest in Philip's life. He cared for them and studied them as other men care for and study their professions. He loved them all, because they were women. All his life he had shown his interest in them. And Virginia Merrill pleased him immediately. Although, to most men, she would, at this time, have been merely a delight to the eye, his senses were acute enough to perceive other qualities in her qualities of tempera- ment and mind. To him, there was already much of in- terest behind the young face and constrained manner. The arrangement at table was highly satisfactory. Virginia was on Atkinson's right, with a window oppo- site her, behind her Mother, and a strong light thrown across her face. During the canape she was studied covertly, and much was perceived. First of all, she was beautifully dressed. That, of course, was her Mother. The Merrills, every one knew, were extremely poor ; but that was considered no reason why the women of the family should be badly clothed. To-day Virginia was in brown. From the crown of her feather toque to the tip 2 9 -THE FIRE OF SPRING of her suede shoes, all was one harmonious range of color. Her bright brown hair gleamed red and gold in the sun- light. Her large eyes were hazel, when one got a straight look under the extraordinarily long lashes. And the deli- cate pallor of her face, the deep ecru of her lace waist, the slender gold chain, with its dull gold ornament, that hung about her neck, and the tan of purse and gloves which she had laid aside, formed a series of tones that delighted Atkinson's artistic soul. He was very glad that he had come. Marcia presented no such noon-tide attrac- tions. It only remained now to make her speak : this not for the trend of her thoughts, but for the tone of her voice, to see whether that, too, would blend with the whole. At present, Mrs. Merrill was sustaining the brunt of the conversation ; but Philip waited a proper cue, and then, leaning over a little, addressed the young girl directly, with that too personal manner which had, again and again, proved irresistible to women. " And so you are engaged to be married. And to my cousin. Don't you think he might have told me him- self, a little sooner than he did ? " Atkinson had come near betraying that he had not been told at all ; and this was a faux pas which he did not care to make before Mrs. Merrill. Virginia hesitated for a moment, lifted her eyes for a short, rather tantalizing glance, and then smiled. " It was only announced this morning, you know," she ventured, demurely enough, but unable to keep the gleam of her young delight out of her eyes. Atkinson read her very accurately. Her voice was 10 THE FIRE OF SPRING musical, and her enunciation prettily cultivated. She was a delightful little girl. And he smiled, faintly, as he per- ceived how broadly she was displaying the great solitaire on her left hand. Obedient to her wish, his eyes rested upon it, and his look expressed admiration, though he inwardly regretted that, for the sake of her costume, it was not a topaz. " You've been in Cuba this winter, haven't you ? " she went on, presently. " Yes. How did you know it ? " he answered, still with a faint smile, and with so much open interest in her that a little color crept up her transparent face. " Oh Mr. Van Studdiford " (this was not affecta- tion ; she could not say " Charles ") " told me. That is why I didn't meet you when I stayed with Marion Hunt, in January. I was in Grangeford for three weeks, you know. And I didn't go back to school after the holidays because " " Virginia," murmured her Mother. The waiter wished to remove the bouillon, and Vir- ginia's spoon was still in her hand : she had been playing with it while she talked. Atkinson looked away, at once, interested at the adroitness with which the child's Mother had stopped confidences. The plate was removed, and Van Studdiford took up the conversation. Nor, through- out the meal, did Atkinson return to his first position. He had made his test, and come to his conclusion. She was a little too pliable. He preferred his wax a trifle harder to mold. Luncheon progressed, agreeably. Van Studdiford had II -THE FIRE OF SPRING made no mistakes in his menu ; and the wine, (that which, on the list, is called Johannisburg) , was smooth enough and mild enough even for Virginia, who sipped the golden liquid with a girlish ecstasy at her own importance, that was pretty to watch. And, indeed, it would have been remarkable had Vir- ginia Merrill, being herself, not been happy to-day. At this moment, she was the most interesting object in society. She, who had, hitherto, been guarded from the world as if it had been a devouring monster, was now, in one breath, thrust into the very midst of life, with the prospect of having to crowd all the dear delights of debutantism, ex- perienced young-ladyhood, and the more important status of the engaged girl, into the eleven short weeks that pre- ceded her wedding. Across the table sat the man who had made it all possible : florid, beaming Van Studdiford, too entirely in love with her to understand many things that cried to be understood, leaving all the necessary tutoring of the child to a Mother who, with a pierced heart in her breast, was selling her daughter to save her from what she herself had had to endure. Charles Van Studdiford was enormously wealthy. That was enough. Anything, anything in the world, in the eyes of Caroline Merrill, must be preferable to just that species of well-dressed poverty that she had struggled with for the past five years. And as for love what should Virginia want to know of it for years to come ? When she did learn she would be sufficiently well-schooled to grapple with it suc- cessfully. And as these things passed through Mrs. Mer- rill's mind for the hundredth time, how should she be 12 THE FIRE OF SPRING aware that her last question had also been asked, imper- sonally, by another who sat at that same table ? They had reached dessert before the matter of the con- cert came up. Mrs. Merrill had a box for the season. (Each year she managed that; no one knew how.) And now she asked Atkinson to be of the party this afternoon. Philip refused, gracefully; his excuse being much more convincing than that he had given Van Studdiford, some time ago. A little to his surprise, Virginia turned to him with disinterested reproach in her manner : " Why do men never want to hear good music ? It is such a fine program to-day. You wouldn't find it heavy, and you couldn't help liking some of it. There's the Un- finished Symphony. It is the best well, the most distinc- tive, the most truly Schubert, of anything Thomas plays. And the ' Ruet d'Omphale,' ah, that is delicious ! " Mrs. Merrill smiled, indulgently. " My dear, you must not try to carry Mr. Atkinson away on your own enthusi- asm. His taste for Saint-Saens has probably been modi- fied, as yours will some time be." To Philip, this comment was more or less Greek. So far as he knew, he had never heard any Saint-Saens at all. But he was sorry that Virginia had been cut off in her little flight ; and he was glad to perceive that she had a talent. Without a talent, no woman was, in his eyes, quite complete. Some day when she was more experienced she would be a worthy field of exploration for an artist like himself. But, for the moment, Marcia lay rather heavily on his mind. Women were so often unreasonable. It was high time he found her. 13 THE FIRE OF SPRING The chairs were pushed back. Van Studdiford rose reluctantly, the ladies with some eagerness ; for it was late. Wraps were not donned, since they were going through the tunnel into the Auditorium proper. At the door of the dining-room, Mrs. Merrill put out her hand to Atkinson. " It is a pleasure to have met you. I have known your sister for a long time; and you are like her." " Thank you. That is a very great compliment," he replied, quietly. Virginia also turned to him. " Good-bye," she said. " I wish you were coming to the concert." He bowed, deeply, over her hand, but said nothing. In another moment they had separated. Atkinson left the hotel, and returned at a brisk walk to the Wellington. Probably Marcia was there still. He was only two hours late for his engagement; and that was really not so very much. Three or four compliments, perhaps a kiss pooh ! As he walked, he hummed a little tune : an air the words of which had pleased him so much on first hearing that it had become his motif. In reality, it was a perfect little synopsis of his own character : Gounod's " Chantez, Riez, Dormez." He sang it now, very softly : " Quand tu dors, bercee le soir, entre mes bras," and the picture of the woman thus enfolded, was a new one, and over-daring. Reentering the Wellington bar, only for a moment before going upstairs, he was caught by a party of old-time companions, forced into a chair at a table, and asked what he would have. As Fritz rushed awa with THE FIRE OF SPRING the order, one of the men, Jack Kennard by name, turned to him: " Saw you, Phil, going into the Annex with Van Stud- diford. Did you meet his girl ? " " I had the pleasure/' returned Atkinson, " of lunching with my cousin, and Mrs. and Miss Merrill." Somebody laughed. Then came a chorus : " What's she like, Phil ? " These men were not of the Merrill set. " She is charming. Charlie is to be congratulated. Charming, really ! " Nor was anything more to be got out of him. Yet he was himself surprised at the impression left by that little girl. It stayed with him all day, and rather spoiled his evening with Marcia. Yet perhaps that was only because her young eyes were so very brown, so very clear, so innocent. CHAPTER II THE Merrill house, a very large one, built of gray stone, was on Michigan Avenue, in the neighborhood of Thirtieth Street. It was a beautiful home ; for it had been built at a time when John Merrill's realities were almost as big as his prospects ; and it had been designed to hold more of a family than the one little daughter remaining of three children. Virginia was eighteen now; and it did not seem so long ago that luxuries at home and extravagances abroad had been encouraged by both parents. Since the day, however, five years before, of an unsuccessful attempt to corner lard, the mode of life of the Merrill family had changed, materially. Mrs. Merrill retained her maid; and she and her daughter dressed with all the taste natural to both of them. But the stables were closed ; and a good many rooms on the upper floors of the house were dismantled and locked to save cleaning, redecorating, and care. Servants were the great- est problem in the household, for they had to be paid; whereas dressmakers and markets could be indefinitely put off. In the morning, the ladies took their tea and toast in bed, and John Merrill ate an egg and drank a little coffee before he went disconsolately off to his remnant of work in the city. He could usually get an invitation to luncheon at his club; and his wife rarely took her mid- 16 THE FIRE OF SPRING day meal at home. As for dinner the Merrills gave two or three elaborate entertainments a month during the sea- son ; and, in return, were asked out three or four nights a week. This was far less expensive than not entertaining at all, provided, only, one knew how to make everything go very far. Such, for five weary years, had been the spirit of existence in that household : every burden finding a place on Mrs. Merrill's capable, but tired shoulders. And now, at last, the reward of the long struggle had, most un- expectedly, come. Without the expense of a last year at a finishing school, the ruinous season of the debutante, and perhaps two years more of resolute appearances before a suitable match could be found, Virginia was to marry a good name and a huge fortune, without even the encum- brance of a family attached. For, with the exception of one sister, Van Studdiford had no relatives nearer than cousins. After June, then, there would be a great freedom for Mrs. Merrill. She could carry her failing husband to Europe in the summer, to the South in the winter, and, by renting the town house, make their income ample for their simplified needs. Life's shadows were serene now, and she could look forward to them without any of the old weariness, the dreaded necessity of keeping up appear- ances. Unquestionably, Virginia was a good daughter. The great coup had really been of her own making; or, rather, had been the unforeseen result of an accidental visit to a school-friend. And now, through the three im- portant months of courtship, she promised perfect behav- ior, engendered, as, alas ! the Mother knew, by a perfect 17 THE FIRE OF SPRING = ignorance of those joyful deeps that she should be ex- ploring. All being done, however, the first shock of relief at an end, and the prospective son-in-law constantly in evidence, Mrs. Merrill found moments of unforeseen dis- couragement and many details in the situation that were not to her taste. Indeed, so devoted was she to Virginia's interests, that she had begun to long, earnestly, for the impossibly perfect : love and wealth united. But the fact that delicate Virginia as yet showed not the faintest de- sire for the first of these, must be, at present, her Mother's greatest comfort. All in all, Virginia was, just now, radiantly happy. Her undeveloped tendencies were worldly enough ; and to find herself suddenly the pivot on which the entire house- hold revolved, an object of keen interest to the very serv- ants, had turned her head a little. Her wishes were con- sulted about everything. She was learning the pleasure of planning new gowns, of ordering, at this place and that, the thousand pretty details of her trousseau. It was to be complete ; for her Father had allowed almost a year's income for her equipment, taking a half -sorrowful pride in sending her to her millionaire husband in need of no extravagance that could be desired. She even rose to the dignity of a maid of her own, who, though she was not to be allowed to accompany the bride on her wedding trip, would follow her to Grangeford on her return, and begin the new life there with her. Lucy Markle was an English girl, an adept in her profession, possessed of the foreign tendency toward becoming personally attached to her mis- tress. Virginia began to take a keen interest in her own 18 THE FIRE OF SPRING individuality; for Lucy Markle soon brought out her every effective point, and gave her an air of distinction remarked by many people outside of her immediate circle. The engagement had been announced on the evening of the thirteenth of March. The wedding day was set for Wednesday, the fourth of June, the ceremony to be per- formed in Grace Church, at noon, a breakfast following at the house. And on the same evening the bridal couple were to leave for New York, whence they should sail, on Saturday, for Europe: the land of Virginia's desire and dreams. After the announcement of her engagement, the bride- elect lost no time in selecting her maids: six girls of representative families, who were permitted to appear at a conspicuous function before their respective debuts because Mrs. Merrill's daughter asked it, and because Mrs. Merrill's daughter was making a remarkable match. Most of these young girls were away at their finishing schools; and Virginia was thus denied one part of her legitimate pleasure: that of having constantly around her a train of admiring, flattering, envying attendants, who would entertain her, early and late, and to whom, from the depths of her vast ignorance, she could chatter at will, finding her audience always interested, always credulous. But each of the six promised to be at home at least ten days before the great event, for the important purpose of having their gowns tried on the requisite num- ber of times. And till that period arrived Virginia must be content with one companion the seventh of her com- pany, the maid of honor, Marion Hunt, at whose home 19 THE FIRE OF SPRING = in Grangeford Van Studdiford had met and fallen in love with his childlike fiancee. In the previous year these two girls had been room- mates at a fashionable New York school : Virginia's first year being Marion's last. At that time there had sprung up between them one of those strangely violent affections which make a dangerous episode in a girl's school-life. This particular friendship happened to be less unhealthy than the majority of such cases; and the head of the school, judiciously perceiving that Marion Hunt's common sense was having the best influence on little Miss Mer- rill's butterfly wilfulness, made no effort to check it. Next year, Marion was no longer at Miss Burden's ; and, after the Christmas holidays, Virginia's Mother, for the old, dreary reason, had found it inexpedient to call her daugh- ter home. What more natural than that white-faced Vir- ginia should be found " not quite strong enough to go back to her studies " ? And, also, what more natural than that, not going back, she should delightedly have accepted Mrs. Hunt's cordial invitation to come and partake of the fresh air and mild society of Grangeford, Illinois? But, in regard to the great conclusion of that visit, what more wholly unexpected than that Charles Van Studdiford, the king of the little city, the ignorer of women, the lover of fine horses, should have fallen so precipitately, so hope- lessly in love with the dainty, childish creature, who, when she perceived his infatuation, was all too keenly aware of the value of it? This was what happened; and March found the destinies of Virginia Merrill settled, to all in- tents and purposes, for good. 20 THE FIRE OF SPRING Perhaps in no country in the world is the period imme- diately preceding marriage so incongruously occupied as in the land of the epitome of civilization : the United States. The one thing that is to be rigidly guarded against, is any revelation to the young girl of the grim essentials of real life. The thing to be steadfastly avoided, is any sacred communion between Mother and daughter, any beautiful and tender explanations and teachings about the meaning and the necessities of the new state. And the one thing desired is to keep the prospective bride occupied, morning, noon and night, with the most frivolous thoughts and the most useless pursuits. Virginia Merrill was just as innocent, just as ignorant of that knowledge without which no woman ought ever to marry, as her family and her friends supposed and desired her to be. Her mind and her sensibilities were, perhaps, more than usually refined. At the merest suggestion of anything bordering on vulgarity, she shrank, helplessly, within herself. And, never once having had it suggested to her to consider the seriousness of the step she was tak- ing, she had not dreamed of contemplating it for herself. Indeed, not once, from the hour of her engagement, did she allow her thoughts to dwell upon the details of her approaching married life. Impossible? No. When all the hitherto precluded joys of vanity and importance are thrown pell-mell at the feet of a very young woman, why should she desire to turn her thoughts from them to un- pleasant responsibilities and duties? It was at the altar of Grace Church, after all the congregation had seen the exquisite fit of her wedding gown, the perfect hang of 21 THE FIRE OF SPRING = the court train, that Virginia's mind stopped. Beyond stretched a great, grave blank. Van Studdiford, of course, was constantly in evidence. He made an unexpectedly good lover. He showered her with gifts ; he deluged her with questions as to what else she would like; he overwhelmed her with tacit prom- ises. In April he took her and her Mother to Grange- ford, to see what changes she might wish made for her- self in his house there. But it was Mrs. Merrill who decided on the arrangement of Virginia's own apartments. Two small rooms were to be thrown together for her bed- chamber; and a boudoir to be constructed beyond this that would also open directly into the room to be occu- pied by Lucy Markle, her maid. Both ladies were de- lighted with the comfortable house, the ten acres of beau- tifully kept grounds, and the immense stables. As she was conducted from one thing to another, Mrs. Merrill's heart grew light within her. After all, what an excellent arrangement this marriage was ! The one thing marring the prospect in the slightest way, was the presence of Miss Van Studdiford, a slight, red-haired, severe-looking woman, who could scarcely be called a desirable adjunct to the place. Virginia must, however, meet this difficulty as gracefully as possible, and let circumstances decide the outcome of a situation that Mrs. Merrill perceived would speedily become difficult. Virginia herself gave no sign of apprehension. She was not trying to imagine her future in this house. Atkinson was not encountered during this visit; nor did Virginia see him again until the night of the wedding 22 THE FIRE OF SPRING rehearsal, to which he came, of course, being one of his cousin's ushers. Nor did Philip, contrary to his own na- ture, concern himself very much about the future mis- tress of his employer's home. After his hour of interest in her at the Annex luncheon, she had slipped out of his calculations, displaced by more engrossing topics. If she did cross his mind at all, it was merely in the light of some one who was to give him a highly disagreeable sum- mer. For he was to be left at the Grangeford factory during Van Studdiford's absence in Europe on the first real vacation the owner had had in six years. Once, in the last four weeks of her girl life, Vir- ginia thought of Atkinson; but only in connection with his sister Georgiana, Mme. Dupre, the widow of a cele- brated French painter. Mrs. Merrill had known this fascinating woman for many years; and took delight in entertaining her when she happened to be in Chicago on one of her rare visits to her three brothers. The time had not yet come when Georgiana's love of unconven- tionality had put her slightly beyond the pale of her old, exclusive set. And whenever she was in America she was the sensation of the hour among the best people of two cities. On a Sunday in the middle of May, the day before she left for New York, en route for Paris, Mme. Dupre lunched with the Merrills ; and Virginia straightway fell in love with her. As a matter of fact, she was one of the most beautiful women of her time ; and, though well aware of her every attraction, she used that knowledge only to the best advantage. Virginia soon perceived her 23 -THE FIRE OF SPRING strong likeness to the youngest of her brothers ; but thought Mme. Dupre far more delightful than he. That afternoon, Virginia was having an informal exposition de trousseau; and while Lucy Markle and Mrs. Merrill's own maid arranged the gowns and lingerie in Virginia's bedroom, Mme. Dupre was pleased to look on. The little bride-elect listened rapturously to her comments and lively reminiscences of other trousseaux, other brides and other weddings of the Faubourg St. Ger- main and Park Lane^ in which she had had some part. For while her husband had painted the beautiful women of three countries, Georgiana had doubled his fame by her mere existence as his wife. Before she took her depar- ture to-day, she produced, for Virginia, her wedding gift : a square, golden box, beautifully chased, with Virginia's monogram in topazes on its lid. The young girl received it with a cry of admiration. Nor did any presentiment of the part of that box in her future drama, cause her heart to sink as she examined it. It was half past three when Mme. Dupre left the Mer- rill house ; whereupon Virginia was made to lie down for an hour before the arrival of her friends for tea and the examination of the gowns. Mrs. Merrill descended to the drawing-room, to find Van Studdiford arrived and talk- ing with her husband. Amid all the gay excitement of preparation in that house, John Merrill was the one who stood aside. Hasty consent to the engagement had been extracted from him. He had provided an embarrassing check for the necessary expenses. And thereafter he had sat apart, always absorbed in his own, sorrowful, dingy 24 THE FIRE OF SPRING existence of regret at the loss of that which is body and blood to the American man: his business. He scarcely iioticed at all those things in which his wife and daugh- ter were so happily engaged. To-day he was talking to Van Studdiford only because Van Studdiford had walked in upon him, and there had been no one to turn him over to. Five minutes after the entrance of his wife, he dis- appeared, silently, to his library. And Mrs. Merrill saw and seized upon a longed-for opportunity. She and Charles were absolutely alone. There was little danger of interruption for at least half an hour; and there was something that she had long wanted to discuss with him. It was a matter over which she had debated within herself for many weeks, hesitating while she wanted it done, and fervently wishing that in this country the custom was the same as in England : that there should be, between her husband and Van Studdiford, a regular arrangement of marriage settlements. For money was the subject of the much-desired interview. Virginia must go to her husband penniless ; but her Mother, taught by bitterest experience, as fully intended that Virginia should have some money, however little, settled upon her for her own, as she intended to have Van Studdiford's millions behind the family. Of course, some day, Virginia would have all the wealth. And yet who could tell? There are things other than corners in lard that sweep away men's fortunes swiftly and unexpectedly. For this reason, on that Sunday afternoon, Caroline Merrill, a Mother as unselfish as environment would let her be, knowing her husband useless for her purpose, 3 25 THE FIRE OF SPRING chose a truly feminine method of going about a man's business. How, by what roundabout means, she reached her point, she herself could scarcely have told. The be- ginning was made far afield. Then she skirted round the subject, played with it, appealed to Charles with blind, reminiscent cases, finally, with tact, with delicacy, but entirely without that blunt sincerity that pleased him best, laid her wishes before him. " Believe me, Charles, it will be easier for you : so much easier, for both of you. Virginia need never be humiliated by the necessity for asking. Her little income would supply all her personal wants. And you would never know the annoyance of an untimely demand." She finished rather nervously, inwardly tremulous; feeling already, with her peculiar sensibility, that her method had been ill-chosen. But she could not have been straightforward about a matter bordering so closely upon ill-breeding: and Charles could be nothing else. He sat very still in his chair by the table, his face redder than usual, his blue eyes regarding her steadily, a little coldly. He was angry. He very much resented such feminine intrusions into his private intentions. But he desired to show neither anger nor resentment. Therefore there was a difficult pause before he finally began: "You needn't be afraid, Mrs. Merrill, that I shall ever be inconvenienced by requests for money made by Virginia. Nor need you be afraid that I shall ever refuse them if they're reasonable. I shall also try to keep Vir- ginia sufficiently well supplied to make ordinary demands on me unnecessary. But I've got my own ideas about 26 THE FIRE OF SPRING where the money should be in a family. If Virginia had a big fortune in her own right, I'd hesitate a good deal about marrying her. I believe in the old-fashioned idea that if the wife makes the home the husband shall earn the bread for it. And as long as your daughter is my wife, she shall get her money from me. If there comes a time when I haven't much left, she'll share what I have. But, in marrying me, she should look forward to every possi- bility, and be ready to meet it with me. I think in this I'm conforming to the notion expressed in the marriage ceremony. If not well, I'll continue to think and to act in my own way; for as long as I live, I shall be the master of my family. That is to be thoroughly under- stood, please, by Virginia also, before she marries me." He concluded quietly enough, but in a tone that set Mrs. Merrill's teeth on edge. She was a woman who hated reasonable opposition. And there was no question that Van Studdiford had a kind of innate coarseness in him: the coarseness inherent in the old idea of ruling a woman through absolute dependence : belief in the un- limited monarchy of marriage. The Mother's first, swift impulse, on the conclusion of his speech, was to inform him, as quietly as he himself had spoken, that, under the circumstances, his marriage with her daughter would be unadvisable and impossible. Her second wish was to rise and make her escape from the room. Both impulses she controlled, by a strong effort, for the sake of Virginia. Whether Van Studdiford was difficult or not, neither she nor her daughter could afford to let the match go. So she dropped the subject with 27 -THE FIRE OF SPRING that patient repression acquired during a long and dif- ficult training, and suavely turned to other matters. During the afternoon that followed, she appeared as charming as usual ; playing her unhappy role so well that even her daughter never dreamed of what lay beneath the surface. But Mrs. Merrill was bitterly chagrined over her defeat ; and, what was worse, she had had instilled into her a fear of the future. She had been made to see that the man who had wealth enough to make a suitable husband for her daughter, was also possessed of an indi- viduality of his own so marked that a loveless marriage with him might turn out to have dangers and difficulties not yet surmised by anyone. This was, perhaps, not quite the way Mrs. Merrill expressed it to herself. She felt only the humiliation of having to accept defeat at her son-in-law's hands without complaint: of having to deliver Virginia up to him unprotected, without any loophole of possible escape, in case, after a time, that of which she was as yet so blessedly ignorant, should come upon her. The days passed swiftly. Already spring was rush- ing into the arms of summer. The Merrills had issued their wedding invitations. The wedding gown that ex- quisite little gown in which Virginia looked like some ethereal spirit, had come home, and lay, with its tulle veil, in a big, perfumed box in Virginia's room. Gifts were arriving daily, in increasing numbers ; and a large room on the second floor had been filled with white-covered tables to receive them. The bridesmaids had now all re- turned, and their young voices filled the Merrill house at 28 THE FIRE OF SPRING every hour of the day and evening. Finally, one week before the wedding, Marion Hunt arrived from Grange- ford, to stay with Virginia till the great affair was over. No completer contrast between women can be im- agined than that between these two friends. Marion was twenty-one years old, not at all pretty, but good- looking in a wholesome way, of a temperament wholly un- emotional, containing in her nature an overlarge amount of a quality valuable but not feminine: common sense. Scarcely yet had Marion recovered from her amazement at Virginia's engagement ; but she was genuinely pleased with the whole prospect, grateful at being asked to assist at the ceremony, delighted with her gown, with Vir- ginia's trousseau, with the gifts, with everything, indeed, that any woman could be supposed to like. Mrs. Merrill took a fancy to her, and was comforted by the thought that Virginia would have her close at hand during the first part of her new life in a country town. The days were busy enough. But on the nights of this last week Mrs. Merrill had decreed that there should be no entertainments save the wedding rehearsal, with a supper following, two nights before the ceremony. So, in the evenings, after they had gone upstairs, Virginia and Marion, meeting in one bedroom or the other, in- dulged in long, girlish talks. And Marion, always old for her age, understanding, somewhat, a woman's re- sponsibilities, found herself constantly amazed at the per- fect innocence, or childishness, or thoughtlessness of Vir- ginia's notions of her future life. In London, it was to be a very amusing thing to wear a decollete gown while 29 -THE FIRE OF SPRING dining in public restaurants. They must surely stop at the new hotel : the Savoy. And in Paris she wanted to get two more negligees. And perhaps ah, Marion, per- haps they would go to a cafe chantant; for should she not be a married woman then ? It would be such fun to be a matron, eligible for chaperoning her old school- friends ! And, as soon as she was settled in Grangeford, she must have two " at homes." Oh, never mind if there weren't enough people for two. Every girl in Chicago who had married well, always had two days after she came back from her journey. And Marion must lunch with her very often ; because probably Charles would seldom be able to come home in the middle of the day. And Marion promised, gravely, to come ; and won- dered, and pitied, and wanted sometimes to laugh; but asked no leading questions, nor ever made a single sug- gestion that could disturb the child's perfect tranquillity and ridiculous little vanities about the misty future. Sunday came, with Church, Charles, and much writ- ing of notes of thanks in the afternoon. On Monday, a thousand things were to be done : thirty or more pres- ents to be unpacked, exclaimed over and arranged ; then more notes of acknowledgment : Virginia wishing to take away as few gift-cards as possible. At four in the after- noon all the bridesmaids arrived for tea; and there en- sued a lively discussion as to the arrangement of the bri- dal procession at the Church. On that point, there were as many ideas as girls. But Virginia's own plan had been conceived long before, and she was not to be turned from it now. There was to be a full choir, singing the Lohen- 30 THE FIRE OF SPRING grin music, to precede the ushers, followed by the rest of the party in regulation order ; " The Voice that Breathed o'er Eden " during the ceremony ; and Mendelssohn af- terwards : a perfectly conventional arrangement, which, considering Virginia's real taste in music, was a little remarkable. It was nearly six o'clock before the tea-party broke up ; and then there was a scramble to be dressed for din- ner, which was hastily eaten that half past eight might find them at the Church. Mrs. Merrill drove over in a brougham with Van Studdiford ; leaving her husband to follow, in a large carriage, with the two girls. Thus Virginia, chattering eagerly with Marion, felt no pang of nervousness till they were actually inside Grace Church, surrounded by a little throng of ushers and intimate friends. Virginia greeted everyone much as usual, but without any consciousness of what she said. She was in a sudden haze. It had come over her, at last, that she was going to be married: she, Virginia Merrill. She was to be married, to that stout, florid man, who stood talking to the rector ! And Virginia was in a breathless panic. They were at the Church for an hour and a half. There were repeated trials of the procession, the reces- sion, the arrangement at the altar. More than once Virginia and Van Studdiford found themselves standing together before the Reverend Mr. Bentham. Each time Virginia trembled, violently. Each time there rose a new pang of dread in her heart. Nor did the subtle discom- fort vanish when she found herself at home again, seated THE FIRE OF SPRING beside her fiance at one end of the long supper-table. Here, however, were a few moments of excitement Be- fore each of the bridesmaids lay a small, white parcel : the gifts from the bride and groom. At Virginia's place was a square, flat box: Charles' gift to her. And now, at last, there came a little thrill of pleasure to the heart of the bride. She had spent a good deal of time wondering what Charles would give her. But, when she opened the purple velvet case, the thrill within her died. Only pearls ! Only two rows of magnificent white pearls : the fairest, the most lustrous, that Tiffany could provide! All her life she had had pearls. She had dreamed of diamonds the matron's stone ; or even rubies. But these, whatever their price, were a bitter disappointment to her. Nevertheless, she must thank him. And she did, very prettily. Of all those around her, only one read her face accurately; and he smiled to himself, no less at her childishness than at Van Studdiford's ignorance of women's minds. Philip Atkinson would not have made the mistake of giving pearls to a woman under thirty. But he did not speak to Virginia at all, nor did she give him more than the necessary greeting that night. It was one o'clock before the house was quiet ; and Virginia was tired enough to go to sleep at once, and to sleep soundly. But next morning, when she woke, there was a weight on her heart that she carried with her for many hours. It was a quiet day, spent entirely with her Mother and Marion. Charles was to stay all night in Grangeford ; so, in the evening, the ladies went upstairs at nine o'clock. To-night there was no talk- 32 THE FIRE OF SPRING ing in the girls' rooms. Marion wisely ignored the sug- gestion ; for she thought that Virginia's best preparation for the strain of to-morrow would be a long, quiet sleep. And how should she know that the poor little bride-elect, for the first time in her life, could not sleep ? The lights were out. Virginia crept into bed, laid her head on the cool pillow, opened her eyes wide to the darkness, and was confronted with facts. There rose before her the weeks that had elapsed since her engagement was an- nounced: the ten, butterfly weeks, for the joy of which she had really given her promise to marry. Now they had flitted away into the blackness of past time. To-night was the last night in which she should lie peacefully in her white bed under her Father's roof, with her Mother always within call. In fifteen hours more, only fifteen short hours, she What was that! Virginia sat up in bed. The handle of her door turned, softly. She caught the little rustle of soft silk on the carpet. Then some one bent over her bed, some one was murmuring, tenderly : " Virginia darling ! My little girl ! My baby ! " And Virginia's arms were clasped about her Mother's neck. In the darkness, whispered words of comfort were poured into the child's frightened mind. There were caresses, such as Mothers give tiny children waked by some terrifying dream. There was that tender soothing that still had power to dispel what trouble lay in the daughter's heart. And thus, finally, half an hour later, Virginia was peacefully asleep, her head upon her Mother's shoulder. But the eyes of Mrs. Merrill were 33 THE FIRE OF SPRING not to be so easily closed. How many hours they stared into the cruel night, may not be told. By a quarter before twelve, on Wednesday, the fourth of June, Grace Church was crowded with men and women. Outside, the day was perfect; and Society, on the point of departure to summer climes, wore its newest, lightest, most frivolous costumes. The Church, massed with green and white, formed a background well-suited to the flutter- ing audience who so seldom condescended to wait, any- where, for anything, as they were waiting now. It was twelve o'clock. Would she be late? No. The organ stopped the voluntary. The chimes were ringing out. There. They were over. From the vestry came the first, faint strains of the Lohengrin bridal music, which, the organ answering, now pealed through the church. " There's the groom." " What a pretty procession ! " " How well they have matched the ushers ! " " Look at those trains only Doucet could have hung them better ! " " Ah ! She really is beautiful ! " This last formed an echoing murmur down the church, as Virginia progressed, on her Father's arm. Beautiful she was, indeed. The sun, streaming through a high, open window, sent a long shaft down the aisle through which she walked; and her bronze hair gleamed like an aureole under the film of her veil. Her gown, of the most delicate lace and chiffon, fitted her as if it were some part of herself. Around her neck, her only orna- ment, were the pearls well matching her skin. She carried the heavy court train superbly. Her face was 34 THE FIRE OF SPRING uplifted, and bore no trace of tears. What poise the child had! And in truth Virginia had not wept to-day. The ter- ror of the night before was quite gone. She felt noth- ing now. Never in her life had she been more passive. At the foot of the chancel steps Van Studdiford advanced a little toward her, and she left her Father's arm. The whole Church leaned forward to watch the ceremony; and they missed nothing. Both responses were given clearly; and people found everything, from passionate love to hatred, in Virginia's tones. As a matter of fact, they represented no feeling at all ; for she was speaking like an automaton. Few legal things are so short as the service that binds a man and a woman together for a lifetime. In seven min- utes Mr. and Mrs. Van Studdiford were coming down the aisle, to the music of the most triumphant, the most joy- ous of wedding marches. Virginia kissed her Mother, and then left the church with her husband, who, through the drive home, gazed anxiously at her white face, and found scarcely a word to say. At the house, two or three hours more of respite awaited her. Amid the tumult of enthusiastic maids, interested ushers, and the hundred gushing friends asked to the breakfast, there was no time for thought. But during this period a new change came upon Virginia. After all, why should she be so unhappy? What was there that was so dreadful about marriage? At least, with all her husband's wealth, con- tentment might be found. And it was with this unworthi- est thought in her mind that she went upstairs, with her 35 THE FIRE OF SPRING - Mother and Marion Hunt, to change the wedding dress for her brown travelling suit, the color of which had been specially requested by Charles. At half past four tea was served in the drawing-room to the bride and groom and the half-dozen people still remaining ; and at ten minutes to five a smart little brougham drove up to the door. John Merrill stood at a window, his back to the room, staring out into the street with blurred eyes. Virginia's throat ached, and she made no attempt to speak. But Mrs. Merrill took her little girl into her arms, the others, even Van Studdiford, drawing away into the hall. James Atkinson appeared there with an old shoe sticking out of his pocket ; and a mysterious bag in his hand, into which everybody dipped. The suit-cases had already gone to the carriage. One moment : there was a rush to the door. Van Studdiford caught his bride round the waist, and, through a furious shower of rice, the two gained the brougham. The door shut, smartly. The horses sprang forward. Virginia had one last look back at the house that was no longer her home, and in it saw her Father's face still pressed against the pane. Through all the laughing bustle of the departure, he had not moved. Promptly at half past five, the Lake Shore Limited, of its day the finest train in the world, pulled out of the Chicago station, Eastward bound. Virginia was seated in one of the staterooms, staring out, as the train swung along, upon the squalid quarters of the dirty city, in their frayed summer dress, where a ragged willow or two gave a wan suggestion of country glories. The motion al- ways soothed her for the first few minutes; and to-day, 36 THE FIRE OF SPRING particularly, she wanted the quiet that it gave. She sat, therefore, perfectly still, her hands folded in her lap, her head leaning back, her eyes half-closed. When Van Stud- diford came in his manner was stilled by the sight of her. Opening his suit-case, he took out a clothes-brush. " There is a little rice in your dress, and some in your hat I think, my dear," he observed. " I'll brush it out for you." Virginia was, just then, very reluctant to move. But she rose, obediently, and he brushed at her till a few grains fell from the folds of her skirt and the waist under her jacket. Then, as he, with a little effort in the stoop- ing, set about gathering them up, she took off her hat, reseated herself, and went through the trimming, finding, here and there, a white speck. The train moved faster. Van Studdiford seated him- self opposite her and was soon absorbed in the huge, folding time-table, which provides soul-satisfying read- ing-matter for the American traveller throughout every journey taken in his country. Before he looked up from his delighted perusal of the familiar stops, Virginia, worn out with the day, had fallen asleep, her white face looking more peaceful and untroubled than it had for the past week. " Sec'nd call fo' dinner in the dining-ca' ! " She woke, with a start. Day had not yet died, but the lights were up all round her, and Charles stood at hand, washed and neatly brushed. " Come, Virginia ! Let us go in. You must want something by this time." Van Studdiford himself was very hungry. -THE FIRE OF SPRING Virginia put on her hat and followed him through the train to the dining-car, where they were promptly seated at a table for two. " Cocktail, my dear ? " he asked, as the waiter bent over them. She refused, not because she did not really wish to taste one, but because of the tone in which he offered it. " One dry Martini, then, and tomato soup for two. And salted almonds, you know, and the rest of it ! " " F-es sah ! " responded the waiter, darting away. Virginia leaned back against the end-board behind her. Her unpremeditated nap had made her head ache a little ; and the closeness of the car was unpleasant. Van Studdi- ford regarded her uneasily. She looked more delicate than he had heretofore thought her ; and she did not seem very talkative. Was it possible that she could sulk? Fortunately the steward now arrived, placing a cocktail before him. He drank it, politely, to his bride, who re- turned a slight smile. Immediately afterward the soup came; and Virginia felt some interest in it now. But before her plate was half empty she ceased to eat for a moment, while she raised her eyes and looked at her hus- band. His head was bent over, till only its bald top and a part of his pink face, grotesquely fore-shortened, were visible. He was eating his soup vigorously, supping it with keen enjoyment. Virginia looked, turned her eyes away, and then fas- tened them on him again, while a slow flush spread over her pale face. Heavens ! How disgusting he was ! And she was married to him ! 38 CHAPTER III THE little city of Grangeford was one of the many Illinois towns that have been robbed of their birthright by the phenomenal growth of the great metropolis near-by. Grangeford was older than Chicago, was admirably situ- ated on a river, and had been a successful manufacturing place in its rival's infancy. But where it stood in the fifties, it stands now : a city indeed, but wholly dependent for its comforts and its luxuries on its overwhelming neighbor. Grangeford had twelve thousand inhabitants; and of these, perhaps fifty were people worth knowing well. Humble as they were in their own estimation, after daily perusal of the society columns of Chicago papers, there was, nevertheless, something in their quiet social life, a solidity, an unchangeableness, an absence of rivalry or strain, that gave to their gatherings a tone not to be found in the blatant gaucherie of the so-called smart set of the great city. The daily habits of life of these peo- ple were arranged rather for comfort than for fashion. Nearly everyone, the Hunts included, dined in the middle of the day; few breakfasted later than half past seven; and the pretty supper was usually served at six. At the same time, none of these families, finding themselves in the Annex, the Waldorf, or the Carleton, as the case might be, 39 -THE FIRE OF SPRING would have been in the least at a loss to order a proper, even an artistic, luncheon or dinner for any number. And though people in cities have nothing to tempt them toward a brief and early evening meal, the inhabitants of country towns have good cause not to imprison themselves in the house, at table, during the sunset hour and the twilight that follows. At many Grangeford tables, on the evening of the ninth of October, the same subject was under discussion : a subject more than usually interesting, in that it con- cerned people well known in the great world, and, at the same time, closely touching themselves. For, on the mor- row, Mr. and Mrs. Charles Van Studdiford, the hitherto King of Grangeford and his bride, were coming home. To- morrow they would arrive from their protracted honey- moon ; and the town might see what four months of mar- ried life had done for their bluff millionaire ; and also for little Miss Merrill's shy graciousness and delicate beauty. Most of the members of Grangeford society had been at the wedding ; and since that day Virginia had been a fre- quent object of admiration and discussion among them. Her homecoming, also, had been eagerly looked forward to ; for soon thereafter there was sure to be some sort of entertainment in the great house on the hill. But, just now, the primal and important question with each family was, how soon, and at what period of the day or evening, it would be best to call. Marion Hunt, of course, would go at once, and infor- mally: in the morning, doubtless. Old Major and Mrs. Pattison, never seen apart, even at market, decided on an 40 THE FIRE OF SPRING afternoon a week after the return. Dr. and Mrs. Has- well, the Doctor not Mr. Van Studdiford's physician, would wait ten days if they could. Dr. Hollis told his wife to run in on the third or fourth day. Law- rence Burnwell, now first bachelor in Grangeford ( Philip Atkinson being scarcely counted as a resident) thought of presenting himself for a few moments on Sunday even- ing; he having a new white vest that looked extremely well with his frock coat. The Reverend Heminway and his three daughters, Clarissa, Molly and Jane, talked the matter over earnestly for five nights ; and the end was a general family dissension. Lastly, Madam Farnsworth, dictatress, in her quiet way, of all the town, and a woman eminently fitted for that post, decided to wait till young Mrs. Van Studdiford had indicated her own wishes in the matter of general acquaintanceship. For she guessed that Virginia considered herself of a class apart from the peo- ple among whom she was coming ; and she knew also that there is no one so difficult to deal with as an inexperienced young woman. Madam Farnsworth's quiet surmises were right. From the very beginning Virginia, sometimes conscious- ly, oftener not, was destined to disturb the plans of her fellow-townspeople. First of all, she did not arrive on the tenth, with her husband ; but on the afternoon of the twelfth : having stayed over in Chicago, with her Mother, for an extra two days. Only Mrs. Hunt and Marion, be- side Miss Van Studdiford, were at the station to meet her. Charles was at the factory, involved in a labyrinth of work left undone by Atkinson. And the intimate friends of the 4 4 I THE FIRE OF SPRING family, having greeted the solitary Charles two days be- fore, on the 11.40 train, decided not to assail his wife alone, and restrained their curiosity till a more formal opportunity. Nevertheless, Virginia's arrival was a ceremony. There were those who saw her and they never seemed to forget it, as she alighted from the train and stood for a few moments on the platform : slender, misty-eyed, cling- ing a little to Marion Hunt ; with her maid, Lucy Markle, behind her, Miss Van Studdiford awkwardly waiting in front, and, at a little distance to the right, her eight trunks, in a tumbling pile, as they had been thrown off the train. Marion gazed into the face of her friend with earnest inquiry, finding there less actual change than a transitional indefiniteness. The schooling of the past months had been severe; but it had not yet driven the childish youth from her. Presently, tired of her position, gaunt Miss Van Stud- diford advanced toward " Charles' wife," and kissed her, solemnly. Lucy carried two bags to the surrey which was evidently awaiting her mistress, and climbed into the seat beside the coachman, smiling pleasantly as she did so, and saying, in her English voice: " I've Madam's trunk checks. Shall I leave them with you ? " " Yes, Miss," returned Sefton, with a broad, Cockney accent. And Lucy smiled again. After all, she might come to feel at home in Grangeford. Virginia left the Hunts only on condition that Marion should come to her early in the morning, to watch the un- 42 THE FIRE OF SPRING packing of her Paris trunks. Then, at last, she followed Mary Van Studdiford to the surrey, and seated herself behind Lucy. Sefton jerked his reins, spoke to the ani- mals, and, in a moment, they were off, up the wide, maple- shaded street, to James Road, far along which, to the South of the town, near that spot where the well-kept street became a country highway, stood the Van Studdi- ford house. Virginia knew the city and the location of her new home very well ; but she glanced at everything with new eyes : the pretty streets and houses of the North side, the smoky barrenness of the manufacturing and busi- ness portion along the river, where the great plow fac- tory centred everything ; and again at the residence streets of the South side, where the big yards around the homes were adrift with heaps of fallen maple-leaves, red and gold and richest bronze. They had not to pass through the thickly populated Eastern quarter, where the factory workers lived; and for many years after her marriage Virginia knew nothing of that part of Grangeford. Most of the drive was silent ; though Miss Van Studdi- ford tried her best to be agreeable, and Virginia responded politely to her trite remarks. Only one question did the bride venture of her own accord, though even this matter was indifferent to her. She asked if Philip Atkinson were still living in the Van Studdiford house. " He left a week ago on his vacation," was the reply. " And Charles says he has got to go to Cuba again as soon as he gets back." Virginia felt a little surprise that she should have so keen a sense of disappointment in not seeing Philip 43 THE FIRE OF SPRING = on her arrival. But presently they were driving into the yard of her new home, and everything else was forgotten. The Van Studdiford place, the largest in Grangeford, a huge red and gray house set in the middle of ten acres of beautifully kept grounds, with James street on the East, a patch of woods on the South, and the river for a West- ern boundary, had been fittingly prepared, without and within, for the reception of its new Mistress. When Car- son, the butler, opened the door before the bell could be rung, Virginia found all the servants ranged formally at the end of the big hall to be greeted by her. Carson, with large dignity, indicated them one by one; and Virginia, much astonished and not a little bewildered at this pro- ceeding, spoke to each with the apparent repose of a matron of fifty ; and then, in a panic, demanded to be taken to her own room. Immediately Carson, motioning the as- semblage away with a quick gesture, ceremoniously con- ducted her upstairs, making her wish at each step that she had been content to remain below. However, they halted at last, before a closed door, and Carson observed : " Our usual dinner hour, Madam, has been seven o'clock. And where shall I serve tea ? " It was already half past five ; but the suggestion of tea was the first comfortable thing she had found in her new surroundings ; and her heart and her manner came back together as she answered : " Bring tea to my room at once. I will be down at seven." And without remember- ing her sister-in-law, who had disappeared upon their ar- rival, she opened the door, ran into her room, and flung herself into a morris chair by the bay-window. While she 44 THE FIRE OF SPRING sat there, gazing about her, making no effort to move, Lucy Markle entered by another door, removed her hat and gloves, and, while she turned to get slippers from the travelling-bag, Virginia found energy enough to take off her coat. It was an unspeakable luxury to have her maid again ; for Charles had been a poor substitute on the wed- ding trip ; and Lucy had spent the whole summer in Mrs. Merrill's household and Van Studdiford's pay, because Virginia liked her and would not let her go. In a space of time short enough to prove Carson's efficacy, tea arrived, well arranged, and Virginia, reviving under its mild stimulation, sat up straighter and exam- ined her bedroom. Certainly it was as pretty as she her- self could desire : done in shades of yellow, from butter- color to cream ; and the little stiffness in the placing of the furniture, that bespoke Miss Van Studdiford's hand, would disappear forever when Virginia had lived there a single night. The one disadvantage in the room lay in its three doorways, two of which were covered only by silk curtains. The first of these opening into a large bath- room, which was connected with a great, cedar-lined wardrobe; and the second into a boudoir, the daintiest little place imaginable, from the far end of which one could enter the small room to be used by Lucy Markle. To the maid, this arrangement seemed everything that could be wished ; but she wondered a little, nevertheless, where her Master was to sleep. And, as a matter of fact, Charles' room was on the other side of the house, just over the dining-room, some distance away. When her tea was finished Virginia walked about, 45 THE FIRE OF SPRING mentally arranging her belongings, and investigating her new domain with some interest. But after fifteen min- utes she returned to her chair again, and sat there, list- lessly gazing out of the window, a look on her face that Lucy tried in vain to account for: a look of weariness, of indifference, that amounted almost to pain. And, in- deed, Virginia's heart was full of dread : dread of the mere prospect of dinner, with strange servants, in a strange place : dread of her stiff sister-in-law ; worst of all, dread of seeing Van Studdiford, of having to sit across the table from him, of having, for the five hundredth time, to watch and hear him eat. At six o'clock the trunks arrived and were ranged in a row outside the bedroom door. Then- Virginia was prevailed upon to bathe, and have her hair done, and to dress for dinner in a gown of dull, bluish crepe, that Charles especially fancied. It was ten minutes to seven when Mrs. Van Studdi- ford walked into the long drawing-room, to find her sister- in-law seated there, but no sign of Charles. Virginia wandered, instinctively, to the piano, and began to play, softly, idly, but with a delicacy of touch and expression that at once marked her a musician born. Five minutes later there was a sound of rapid hoofs on the gravel out- side, and presently Van Studdiford, unshaven and soiled with work, came hurriedly into the room, kissed his sister, and then went to his wife. As he looked at her there was a gleam of admiration in his eyes, and a genuine tenderness in his manner as he took her about the waist and kissed her. And although the only light in her 46 THE FIRE OF SPRING face was one of weariness, still she returned his kiss gently, and he was satisfied. For Virginia, selfish, capri- cious, unloving and unhappy as, at this time, she was, had nevertheless completely conquered a hard man. Van Studdiford adored her ; and, in his eyes, she was faultless. Many days went by, and, by degrees, the Grangeford people became exasperated at the difficulty of knowing, or even seeing, young Mrs. Van Studdiford. Two or three of the more daring had called, and been received, it is true ; but the accounts they brought away of the manner of the young matron were not such as induced others to try their experiment. At the same time there flew about such alarming reports of the state and ceremony kept in the Van Studdiford household, that even Lawrence Burnwell decided to refrain from " dashing in " on Sun- day evening: afraid, at the last moment, that a white vest and frock coat might not be suitable in that alarming place. Indeed, it was even possible that on Sundays, as on week-days, these remarkable people dined at night; in which case Van Studdiford might appear in a dinner coat. The Misses Heminway fairly trembled at this thought ; and yearned to know if it were true. At last, when feminine Grangeford was in a state of lifted eyebrows whenever Virginia was mentioned, there came a bolt from the blue in the shape of elaborately en- graved invitations informing all Grangeford society that Mr. and Mrs. Van Studdiford would be at home on the evening of Thursday, October the twenty-ninth, at half after eight o'clock. Here was a theme! if Grangeford wished. But apparently Grangeford did not wish. Cer- 47 THE FIRE OF SPRING tainly it was most pleasant that Charles Van Studdiford should ask his friends to meet his bride. But it was not strange. No. Grangeford pulled itself together and looked Virginia in the eye. Did she imagine they did not know how to conduct themselves about an evening reception? There was a butler at her table, was there? She dined at night? Well, when there was a family of little ones to be cared for, she would see how unhealthy the custom was. At any rate, she should not put them down as country folk without any knowledge of the mys- terious workings of etiquette. And, with many an un- translatable shrug, the ladies unpacked and aired their evening gowns, and began otherwise to prepare for what was eventually and inevitably to be called : " the function." Virginia, lonely, even forlorn as she felt in the great house, never suspected the attitude which Grangeford had gradually been taking toward her. It is scarcely probable, however, that, had she known about it, she would have made the least effort to change it. Poor child ! How should she realize that on her relations with the peo- ple of that country town must depend the largest part of the happiness of all her future years? Fortunately, one person who was near to her heart did understand this. Mrs. Merrill, tied to Chicago as she still was by a lack of money and a husband whose mind was failing rapidly, nevertheless found time to ply Virginia with constant ad- vice regarding her social starting-point : the first entertain- ment in her new home. It was Mrs. Merrill who had suggested it; Mrs. Merrill who planned all its details, from the making it an evening affair to the color of the 48 THE FIRE OF SPRING candles. And, on the twenty-seventh of the month, the Mother left her invalid in charge of his nurse, and went to Grangeford to stay through the week, taking with her her maid, and the most elaborate evening gown she pos- sessed. Owing wholly to Mrs. Merrill's efforts, knowledge and tact, that reception was a success talked of for years to come ; and it went far toward removing the prejudice against Mrs. Merrill's daughter. However, if the Van Studdiford house was radiant with light, walled with flowers, filled with waiters and flowing with golden wine, Grangeford society also outdid itself. The eighty or more people that had been invited all came, and were, every one of them, perfectly easy, perfectly polite, and infinitely better dressed than Mrs. Merrill had thought possible. Virginia herself was amazed; and within an hour her guests rose, in her estimation, to a point whence they could command her respect. As a matter of fact, there are few large evening affairs in Chicago where some women, at least, do not defy every law of taste and propriety and appear in high-necked gowns, with hats! Not so here. Virginia herself, in pale yellow tulle, with her pearls about her neck, and a great bouquet of Perle de Jardin roses in her arm, was the most simply gowned but in- evitably the most beautiful woman there. Grangeford itself graciously admitted this. For more than half an hour old Major Pattison stood in the North corner of the drawing-room, a napkin hanging from his low-cut vest, a plate with a glass of champagne cup on it held chin high, while he poured forth compliments about 49 THE FIRE OF SPRING his hostess, his host, his hostess' Mother, the house, the party, the guests, and the " punch " ; while his little, withered, charming old wife hovered close about him, fearful lest some of their friends might miss his elo- quence. Lawrence Burnwell performed astonishing feats in the dining-room ; yet never appeared to be more than ten feet from Virginia's side. When the dancing began he had the temerity to ask her for the first waltz, and panted with pride at the memory of that achievement for days after. The Reverend Heminway, heart of a bouquet of bright-eyed daughters, wandered slowly through every room in the house, beaming over his glasses at the chorus of " Ahs ! " and " Ohs ! " of the Misses Clarissa, Molly and Jane. Doctors Haswell and Hollis, whose rivalry now and again extended a little beyond the line of friendliness, were seen to pledge each other more than once, in the heartiest way. Mr. Aronson, the lawyer, a childless widower, danced twice with Marion Hunt, and, later, took her to the dining-room. And Marion was glad to accept his attentions, if only for the sake of taking her thoughts from herself. For to Marion only, out of all that company, was the evening not wholly a happiness. Someone was missing from the rooms: someone whose presence had long ago begun to constitute happiness to her. Philip Atkinson was not in Grangeford; and, sud- denly, Grangeford was empty. It was half past twelve before the last guest of this extended reception had gone. Mrs. Merrill, well pleased with the evening's success, was glad enough to get into bed and forget even her anxiety about her husband in 50 THE FIRE OF SPRING sleep. By a quarter past one Van Studdiford, in his room, and his sister in hers, were alike unconscious of the wak- ing world. Only Virginia could not sleep. Only Virginia, aching, burning, freezing, sick, faint, palpitating, in quick succession, could not shut her eyes. What was the mat- ter with her? Was she going to be very ill? Was she going to die? alone? without any help? She was far too miserable to care. Lights danced before her eyes. The hum of voices filled her ears. Slowly, by impercep- tible degrees, she fell into a feverish, dreamful sleep. Breakfast was very late at the Van Studdiford house next morning. Van Studdiford had been at work in the factory for two hours before Mrs. Merrill and Miss Mary met in the dining-room. Only then did the Mother in- quire after Virginia, to be told that Mrs. Van Studdiford was suffering greatly, and could not get up. Leaving her meal untouched, Mrs. Merrill hurried to her daughter's room, with the result that, ten minutes later, a groom was speeding down the hill, along the James Road, after Doctor Hollis. Four days later Mrs. Merrill, daring to stay away from her invalid no longer, left Grangeford. Virginia was about again, drearily. Care and skill had pre- vented the consequences of her pathetically ignorant im- prudence. But even the Mother did not dream of the state of mind in which she left her child : the blank terror, the dread of ensuing days which she must face alone, too shy to confess herself to anyone, even her oldest friend. For Virginia's young eyes had just been opened to what THE FIRE OF SPRING = hitherto had been the mystery of life ; and, in the strange- ness of it, horror came forth and claimed her. November, the melancholy month, had come. Prairie winds shook the last, hectic leaf from the maples. The well-cared-for yards were being put into their winter state: bushes wrapped in straw, lawns covered from the approaching cold. The long, Grangeford streets, robbed of their borders of softening, shadowy foliage, looked desolate enough. The smoke from the factories on the river seemed to cover the dull sky with a darker curtain. The afternoons were short, the mornings late, and supper was eaten by lamplight. Grangeford folk, not averse to winter, busied themselves in pleasant ways : went to Chi- cago to shop and do the theaters ; gave informal sewing parties; studied the lengthening society columns in the Tribune and the Times-Herald, and even began to plan for a function or two of their own. They were as happy, in their mild way, as in the Spring, perhaps. But to the newcomer among them everything was very different. Poor Virginia! What woman will not pity her? Young, fatally ignorant, perfectly inexperienced, never having been permitted even to read of life, fitted only for a butterfly existence, she found herself in the most difficult of all situations, with no one at hand who could guide or cheer her. She was by no means well. She was desperately lonely. Her mind was in a highly morbid condition; and she was impelled persistently to avoid the one person who might, through love and ten- derness, have made everything bearable: her husband. But poor Van Studdiford she tormented till he was nearly 52 THE FIRE OF SPRING as wretched as herself; and finally her behavior was followed by unexpected consequences. Miss Van Stud- diford watched the tempers and petulances toward her adored brother first with amazement, and then with an indignation that would not be suppressed. How should an unmarried woman of forty know what her sister- in-law of eighteen was undergoing? Driven, finally, beyond her self-control, the poor woman one day remon- strated strongly with Virginia on her state of temper. The result was a quarrel that sent Virginia to bed for three days, and made Charles so furious, not with his blamable wife, but with his devoted (but red-haired) sister, that poor Mary, her heart turned to lead within her, packed her modest wardrobe and set off to Denver, to the refuge offered by a hospitable cousin. Probably Virginia never regretted the consequences of that unpleasantness. It was too much of a relief to be freed from Miss Van Studdiford's gaunt and silent presence for her to see her great selfishness in its true light. But, though poor Miss Mary could not be called good company, she had still been more than nothing: a little better than nobody at all. In her least vacant moods at table, over afternoon tea at dusk, she had been at least a figure to talk at; and now even she was lost. Never before had Virginia Merrill dreamed of that which now befell her: the dreary misery that lonely ill- health can bring. She had never thought of such an unhappiness except in connection with the very old or the lower-class poor. But now she knew it for her own. Her Mother was away from her almost all the time, trying 53 THE FIRE OF SPRING the effects of various American springs on John Mer- rill's failing body and fallen brain: a quest serving to preserve the shred of false hope in both of them. The town house had at last been rented. Virginia's former companions were all in the midst of their first " season " ; and which of them would have cared to leave her gayety to pay a visit to a prisoner in a dull country town, without friends, and without energy to make them ? Alas ! Vir- ginia knew very well what answer she should herself have given in like case. Moreover, had anyone actually offered to come to her, Virginia would probably have excused herself from hostess-ship ; for she bitterly resented, was bitterly ashamed of, her appearance. It was this that caused her to frustrate every kindly attempt toward com- panionship on the part of the Grangeford women, many of whom tried hard to do her little kindnesses, or offered to come and sit with her in the afternoon. But these nat- ural, all-comprehending Mothers, never dreaming of Mrs. Van Studdiford's state of mind, resented the repulses to their good-nature, never understanding that they came entirely through shyness, not the haughty pride always ascribed to her. For Virginia had had none of that true experience with the broad, genial world that gives smile for smile, and finds a rule for every situation. And it seemed wholly impossible that she should let any of these aggressive strangers into her pitiable existence. Three only refuges, through that dreary winter, the undeveloped wife and mother had : Marion Hunt, Doctor Hollis, and her music. Marion, indeed, came to be her good angel, fighting her battles without, giving her real 54 THE FIRE OF SPRING affection and sympathy within. For Marion cared gen- uinely for her former schoolmate, and sacrificed many a pleasure of her own, that winter, in order to spend long afternoons in the desolate house on the hill. Mrs. Hunt also performed many tasks that an absent Mother longed to be about: tried to comfort the child a little out of her own experience, and told fascinating truths of the deep joy to come. Doctor Hollis, a bluff, hearty little man, with a spot in his heart as tender as any girl's, came often to see his young patient, who clung to him with pathetic faith, as one who knew all that she did not; and made his cheering words her gospel. As a matter of fact, a good doctor was needed more than once that winter in the millionaire's house ; for Mrs. Van Studdiford proved herself very del- icate; and nerves, mind and body were taxed to their uttermost. But Doctor Hollis was confident of carry- ing her through; and their joint faith was to win the battle. Lastly, Music, her solitary recreation, carried her through many of the empty hours ; but it was not, perhaps, the best thing that could have been devised for her mind. She fed herself upon Chopin, the Prince of Melancholy ; and she could play well enough to extract all the morbid beauty of the etudes, the nocturnes, the ballades and the scherzos. During the morning hours she was so con- stantly at the piano that her progress in technique, in breadth and ease of interpretation, was astonishing. But she did not notice this, for she was playing to her own mind, by melancholy striving to free it from melancholy. 55 THE FIRE OF SPRING If, during the winter months, three helps were given Virginia, she had also, beside negative discomforts, one great trial. This was her husband; for whom she felt that unreasoning and unnatural dislike that sometimes overcomes young wives in the early period of married life. Poor Charles was quite unconscious of any fault. How should he be aware that merely his bald head, his florid face, his habit of jingling keys and change in his pockets, his enjoyment of his dinner, his taste for checked vests, were all so many sharp little files that grated daily on his wife's nerves ? He did his best to be forbearing with Virginia. Nay, he tried to be very tender. But more than once he found himself going to Hollis to make sure that her mind was in an unnatural condition, so wretched was he made by her unpleasant caprices. Long he persisted in his cheerfulness, and held his temper through scenes that few men could have endured stoically. But, in the end, his patience broke. He found her, one night, eating starch from a paper package that she must have obtained secretly; for she had been strictly forbidden to indulge this craving. Angry, and a little disgusted with her, he picked up the bag and threw it out the window. Then, when she began to cry, with the long, whining wail that is the accompaniment of weakness, he turned upon her and swore her into frightened silence. This was the beginning of the worst. Spring was coming, rapidly ; but Virginia and her husband found no joy in it this year. Looking back a twelvemonth both wondered, drearily, how such changes could be. They quarreled incessantly: he being the more unreasonable, 56 THE FIRE OF SPRING because he felt himself a cad for being driven so far. Nor was Virginia's natural stubbornness lessened by her lack of strength ; and she sometimes persisted in her line of irritation till even Lucy, frightened by Van Studdiford's face, would plead with her Mistress to be quiet. When the house became impossible, Charles took refuge in his horses, and was often to be seen driving over the country like a madman behind his beautiful, clean-footed animals, that endured his tempers silently. Miserable Virginia! Daily she loosened a little of his affection for her; and daily, because of it, forbearance, on his part, grew more difficult. And all the while her heart was bleeding; not because of any love of hers for him, but because she had come to value his for her. Finally, one April day, an impossible situation came to a violent climax. Goaded to desperation by certain morbidly hideous assertions that she made concerning the future, Charles struck his wife : knocked her down, in fact, upon the floor of her own bedroom. For a little, madness followed. Then came peace. Mrs. Merrill, summoned wildly by Charles himself, ar- rived and took command of the situation. Virginia was in bed, frightened, not too ill, and brought to her senses by the catastrophe. Charles, more thoroughly ashamed of himself than he had ever been in his life, but showing that shame only by silence and sulkiness, paid the great- est deference to his Mother-in-law, but made no effort to see his wife. Two very difficult weeks went by. Then, by degrees, through Mrs. Merrill's infinite tact, things slowly righted themselves, and the reconciliation came 5 57 THE FIRE OF SPRING = about. Neither the Mother nor Charles for an instant suspected the consequences of that blow upon Virginia's nature. How should they? She never showed what really lay beneath. But out of that one, mad moment, grew something that could never be uprooted : not hatred, perhaps, but a deepening bitterness, that was, in time, to make possible dire things. For that blow struck from her heart certain words of the marriage service. After it, Virginia ceased to honor her husband. An indelible im- print had been made upon her mind. Childish things dropped away. Suddenly she was a woman; and sud- denly she had begun to understand the true consequence of a loveless marriage. As the spring ripened and grew into May, and the world was rebeautified, Mrs. Merrill still lingered at Grangeford. She did not leave it, indeed, until some days after a telegram had been sent from the Van Studdiford, house to poor John Merrill, in Pass Christian, where his nurse read it to him : " Miss Caroline Van Studdiford sends love to her Grandfather. Virginia very comfortable." CHAPTER IV IN the summer season, the tennis court of the Van Studdiford place had, for many years, been a rendezvous for the young people of Grangeford. This year, however, owing to the illness of the new Mistress of the house, a substitute had been found in the grounds of Madam Farnsworth, and those who had not taken to the newly omnipotent golf, went there. Nevertheless the Van Stud- diford court had been marked, as usual, in May, and the grass rolled and cared for through the summer, till by now, on the tenth of August, it was in perfect condition. The day was not extravagantly hot. A slight breeze from the east blew sufficient coolness through the long bars of yellow light that fell athwart the lawn, the court, the copse of brilliant, flowering shrubs, and, beyond that, through the little orchard, down the steep bank to where the lazily gliding river terminated the place. At this hour half past three in the afternoon, the grounds were echo- ing to the calls of the players, two in number : " Fifteen love ! " " Thirty love ! " " Thirty-fifteen ! "and then, after several plays, " Deuce ! " given sometimes in a girl's voice, sometimes in a man's clear tenor. They were well matched, those two; for the numbers followed each other regularly, and the games were nearly always won only after protracted vantages, in and out. 59 THE FIRE OF SPRING = Philip Atkinson, in duck trousers and negligee shirt, and Marion Hunt, in corresponding skirt and a stiffer shirt-waist, had been playing for an hour and a half, and were just beginning the third, crucial set. Marion looked and felt at her best in out-door games. She played every one of them well. She was light on her feet, quick in all her movements, and, when her face was flushed and her hair more or less in disorder, she lost the slightly ordinary look that had always condemned her in Atkinson's eyes. They were engrossed in the score ; and neither noticed the figure that presently appeared upon the side veranda nearest the court, stood there for a moment, looking on, and then moved slowly down the steps and across the grass, to a spot fifty feet from the net, where three or four wicker chairs and a rustic table stood under a clump of white birch trees. It was Virginia who had come out : Virginia, an ex- quisite picture in her voluminous white gown, a mass of shirrings and Valenciennes lace, with a great Leghorn hat, from which drooped clusters of yellow roses and black velvet ribbon, tilted over her forehead, a yellow work-bag hung upon her arm : the whole costume, uncon- sciously worn, giving her a quaint resemblance to some olden-time Gainsborough lady. While she advanced, leis- urely, she watched the game ; and there was a little smile round her lips: a smile of happiness for Marion who was happy, and another of peace for herself. For the past two months had changed the world again for Virginia Van Studdiford. As she seated herself in one of the comfortable chairs, 60 THE FIRE OF SPRING the front gate clicked, and she turned to see the nurse wheeling her baby up the walk toward the side veranda. " Bring Caroline to me, Meta," she called. And, obe- diently, the woman wheeled the pretty carriage toward her, across the grass, saying, in a whisper, as she approached : " She's asleep, Ma'am." Virginia rose, moved forward a little, and peeped under the hood to gaze at the baby's plump, rosy little face, hot with slumber. She looked up, smiling, tenderly, and spoke to the nurse: " Leave her here, please, with me. I'll bring her in when she wakes up." " She isn't to have her next bottle till five. She's just fell asleep over it, and I took it out of the carriage so she'd not wet her cloak." " Very well, Meta. I'll bring her in at five if she doesn't wake up before that." Virginia wheeled the carriage to her chair, turning the hood to the players, that their calls might not disturb the baby's sleep. Then she settled back herself, looked at her work-bag, but did not take out its contents, preferring lazily to watch Atkinson's graceful form as it moved, swiftly, to and fro over the court before her. Ah ! What a wonderful thing it was just to be alive ! Virginia Merrill had been married a few days more than fourteen months. But the young woman who leaned back in the rustic chair on the grass before the tennis- court, was ten years older, mentally and physically, than the child that had married Charles Van Studdiford, on the fourth day of June, eighteen hundred and ninety-five. In 61 THE FIRE OF SPRING that short period she had gone through the iron schooling of half a lifetime. Just at present she was not thinking of it. She had emerged from her recent depths, and it was not now her habit to indulge in introspection. That, too, was the result of the schooling. But, oh ! after the first, inevitable rending of the veil, after her first, frightened glance into that unspeakable gulf whence human life and experience must spring, through what unbeautiful phases she had passed! some behind a mask of bitterly simu- lated indifference, some that even her own pride was powerless to keep from the eyes of those close to her. She had known terror, disgust, helplessness, loneliness, ill- health, worst of all, utter dependence upon a man whom she believed she hated: whom she had tried to hate: whom, just now, she tolerated for the sake of her child. That child, the little, clinging, sweet-faced baby-thing, that loved her arms, had become her anchorage. For the sake of it, for her almighty love of it, she knew that she could, and would, bear infinite burdens. Above all else, Virginia was a Mother. By this, her selfishness had been conquered. She knew, now, why people persist in saying that marriage is good. She had not known the beautiful oneness of love with a strong, tender man. But she had had roused in her the fierce, adoring, protective devotion for a child. Its tiny, helpless, aimless hand had smoothed out the furrows that were becoming habitual to her brow. It had brought a new light into the brown eyes that had grown all but hard. It had surrounded the well of bitter- ness in her heart with the delicate ferns and starry flowers of love and pity. But more than this it could not do. It 62 THAT CHILD, THE LITTLE, CLINGING, SWEET-FACED BABY-THING . . HAD BECOME HER ANCHORAGE. could not fill that well, nor wholly cover it. Virginia had known real torment of mind and body ; and traces of both were inevitably left. But of all these things she would not, now, think deeply. Many of them were matters ever present in her inner consciousness. The rest, consciously or not, she put aside, determining to live only day by day ; perhaps, if possible, hour by hour. The present was agreeable enough. Atkinson had re- turned again from his wanderings, and was living in his cousin's house as of old, in order to be near his work. Marion Hunt now never refused an invitation from her friend ; and Virginia had, long ago, smilingly divined the reason. It pleased her to dwell on this situation; and, whenever it was possible, she planned openings for an ex- pected denouement. Philip and Marion, married, settled nearby, to be constant companions of her Grangeford life, was a thought almost as pleasant to her as to Marion. Nay, scarcely that, perhaps; but delightful, at any rate. And there was ground for the strongest expectations. Philip was, unquestionably, devoted. For some weeks, now, Grangeford had been busily watching what it was pleased to call " the Courtship." And many women and more men than one would have been thrown into utter amazement had Atkinson's real mind been made known. He was amusing himself in an habitual way. As an act- ual matter of fact, he had no feeling whatever for Marion, save as rather a sensible and agreeable old maid, who was light on her feet, and could talk well enough to make a dull hour pass acceptably. The dullness of Grangeford was his only reason for tolerating her for five minutes. 63 THE FIRE OF SPRING = And, even at this period, he felt for her not half the ad- miration that he had for his cousin's wife. Poor Marion ! How was it that she never perceived that her appearance, in not too well-made clothes, cut but a sorry figure beside Virginia, who had the three necessities for dress : money, taste and that peculiar beauty of person that caused her clothes to set her off as delicate ferns enhance a rose. But, as the last ball fell, Virginia herself was planning Marion's trousseau. She was roused from her reverie by Philip's cry of : " Game and set ! " and, at the same moment, Van Studdiford appeared at the side door with Carson, who was carrying a great bowl of claret cup, Charles himself bearing two silver dishes of sandwiches and cakes. Virginia rose and wheeled the still sleeping baby a little farther to one side. The players came up imme- diately, Marion fastening her collar, Philip rolling down his sleeves; while Van Studdiford superintended the ar- rangement of table and chairs. In a moment or two Car- son reappeared with glasses ; and, while his wife reseated herself, Charles served the cup, which he had himself compounded. " Oh ! I could drink all there is in the bowl, and cry for more ! " exclaimed Marion, fanning herself violently with her hat. " My dear lady, there is half a pint of champagne brandy in it. Please wait till I order the landeau," ex- claimed Van Studdiford, rousing a general laugh. Marion rapidly disposed of two glasses ; whereby her scarlet face grew redder still. Virginia, scarcely thirsty, 64 THE FIRE OF SPRING sat sipping hers daintily, feeling, perhaps, that Atkinson's eyes were busy. As a matter of fact, Philip was looking slowly from Marion's flaming face to Virginia's fair, pale complexion, under the great hat ; and poor Marion's cause was fur- ther lost than ever. Atkinson himself, though he had been playing an hour and a half, scarcely seemed hot. He was of the type that is never in any mood or state that does not become him. It was really a matter of instinct, a part of his character, rather than the result of any effort or rule of living. At this moment, indeed, he was pleasantly aware of the fact that, as he contrasted Marion with Virginia, so Virginia was contrasting Van Studdi- ford with him. But he did not guess that Virginia was doing her best to find something to the advantage of Charles. He would have known, at once, that she must fail. This sort of quest was certainly pathetically vain. For Charles' cheeks were more flushed with the mere effort of breathing than were Philip's after thirty games of tennis. And Philip was more immaculate, in spite of all his exercise, than Charles after a lazy afternoon within doors. But so long as youth persists in judg- ments by appearance, so long will the world gang all agley. " What a dull old place Grangeford is ! " murmured Atkinson, throwing down his empty glass, and reaching for a sandwich. " Absolutely nothing in the way of amusement. Nowhere to go. Bed at nine o'clock every night, out of sheer desperation." " I'm used to it," returned Marion, contentedly. " And 65 THE FIRE OF SPRING really, we have about as much amusement as anyone, in summer." " For instance ? " asked Virginia. " Well the golf club hops. And this Saturday there's a picnic." Marion was delighted that the conversation should be turned to it. " You're asked, of course ? Lawrence Burnwell's, you know." " Yes. I remember. I'm not sure that I can leave the baby," said Virginia, tentatively, with a quick glance at Charles, who sat perfectly stolid, without the slightest interest in his face. " I want to go," she remarked, suddenly. " Surely you can ?" Atkinson spoke softly, from a point of vantage near Virginia's feet. " Let me drive you out to the Lake." " Certainly not ! " returned Virginia, laughing. " Old married people shall not monopolize popular bachelors. / shall be with Major and Mrs. Pattison, probably. But you, Philip, must take Marion." " I wanted Virginia to go with me out to the horse farm on Saturday," broke in Van Studdiford, still with an expressionless face. " We're breaking a horse to side- saddle for her, and I want her to see him. That's twenty- four miles in all : enough for one day. Anyway, picnics ! Ugh ! Damned nonsense ! " The conversation died. Nobody cared or dared to resurrect it. Philip, however, was genuinely angry. Mar- ion Hunt! Marion Huntl Why must she be forever flung at his head, as if his were a proprietary interest? And she was so complacent herself! Really, lately she 66 THE FIRE OF SPRING had thrown herself at him. He should stop it, very soon. And Marion, who was watching him closely, guessed his state of mind, if she did not read his thoughts ; and thereby her memory of this day, and her hope for the pic- nic, were spoiled for good. But Virginia, poor Virginia, was more unhappy than either of them. Childish as it was, now that the picnic was denied her she longed for it. Charles himself cared for nothing in the whole world but horses; and, therefore, she must always be forced to waste her few pleasure-hours upon them. She stared at her husband angrily; but he was stretched comfort- ably in a chaise longue, head thrown back, short mus- tache bristling, an unlighted cigar in his hand. He was the only untroubled one of the four. Perfectly aware of the unpleasantness he had caused, he was still indif- ferent to it. In fact, during the last few weeks, all the brute determination in Van Studdiford's character, (and there was much of it), had risen in him fiercely; and he had sworn to himself that he would break his wife to absolute obedience, or break himself in the attempt. He had done it before with a woman. But he had begun to forget the difference in Virginia's breeding from that of the others he had known. The decidedly uncomfortable silence had lasted long enough. Marion broke it by springing to her feet, with the relieving and expected: " Well, I must go. It's nearly five." Atkinson's expression changed. There was a light of rebellious anger in his eyes. Virginia, however, glanced at him mischievously. 67 THE FIRE OF SPRING = " I'm so sorry, Marion. It's very early. But if you must go of course Philip " " I'll take you home, Miss Marion," broke in Van Studdiford, rising suddenly. " I ordered Meteor and the runabout to be here at five. I'll go and hurry them up." And he strode off toward the stables. For just one second, Marion's face had fallen. But she recovered herself, swiftly, as Philip rose, all good- nature now. " What a dog Charles is ! Horses and the ladies. One follows the other, doesn't it ? He has taken two pleasures from me to-day by means of his animals." " Nonsense ! You know you're relieved not to take that long walk with me." There was a betraying rise of inflection on the last word ; but Philip refused to ac- cept her challenge as she wished. His answer, given in an over-elaborate manner : " I assure you I am furious with Charles," would have caused any woman more chagrin than satisfaction. It was a relief to all three when the pat-pat-pat of hoofs on the gravel announced Charles' approach; and as Marion, her hat pinned unsteadily to her roughened hair, started slowly toward the drive with Philip beside her, Virginia sat back again in her chair, and looked laz- ily after them. Two minutes later the runabout was speeding up the James Road, and Atkinson came back to the scene of the feast, to find Virginia bending over the carriage in which her baby still slept. As he ap- proached, she held up one finger, smiling at him, the while, till she had completed the unconscious beauty of the picture. 68 THE FIRE OF SPRING " Caroline's having such a long nap," she whispered. " It's time to take her in, but sleeping is better for her than eating, I think." " She is adorable ! " And Atkinson's thought was not of the baby. He replied, however, only with a smile as she again wheeled the carriage out of the way, and, re- turning to her former place, sat down and looked up at the graceful figure before her. " Will you sit here with me till she wakes ? Thank you. That's nice. Now, Philip, I'm going to scold. Why in the world do you torment poor Marion so? You make her very unhappy. You should never have asked to drive me out to the picnic, even though Charles wouldn't offer. Of course, you want to go with Marion. You're supposed to ! " For a moment he stared at her, from the seat he had chosen. But, after the most scrutinizing look, he could not deny to himself that she spoke in absolute good faith. " I asked you to let me drive you to the Lake because I wanted to take you only you," he answered, simply. " But, Philip, how ridiculous ! I don't in the least count. I am married. You and Marion " " Stop, please ! My dear cousin Virginia, Miss Hunt is no doubt a very charming girl. But, personally, I care less for Miss Hunt than I do for the bow on the baby's carriage." Virginia said not a word. His tone made surprise im- possible. It suddenly came to her that she had all along understood just how he felt toward Marion. He, hav- 69 THE FIRE OF SPRING- ing accomplished what he wished, turned his chair a little and lay back in it, smiling lazily, and looking off across the court and copse to the orchard beyond. Virginia watched him. Her thoughts flew far. And sud- denly, without in the least reflecting on the possible effect of her words, she said : " It seems to me, Philip, that a woman might easily fall very, very much in love with you." He turned, sharply. " What in the world do you mean ? What have they " Happily for him, his next words were drowned in a long wail from little Miss Caroline, who had discov- ered, in the midst of her dreams, that bottle-time had come. Virginia, forgetting everything else, flew to the carriage. For two or three minutes she busied herself about the baby, crooning to her, in that soothing, incomprehensible language that comes instinctively to Mothers. Then, when the wail was stilled a little, Virginia lifted the lacy bundle in her arms, at the same moment smiling over her shoulder at Atkinson, who had risen. " Philip, play nurse, will you ? " she said, laughing. " Do wheel the carriage to the veranda steps for me." Laughing himself, and mightily relieved at heart at his escape from a mistake that he should bitterly have regretted, he did as she asked. As they reached the steps, he did still more. Virginia's arms were full, and, her long, floating gown being in the way, she paused, uncertainly, before the first of the three steps. Without a word he took the baby from her, and himself carried it up and 70 THE FIRE OF SPRING into the house, so gently, so comfortably, that the fretful child did not utter a sound of displeasure. Virginia watched him, marvelling. Van Studdiford could never have done it: would never have attempted it. Truly, a wonderful cousin was Philip ! CHAPTER V THAT year, in Grangeford, summer lingered over Virginia. As the golden days slid imperceptibly along, it seemed to her that time passed as usual; but looking back, afterward, upon this period, she perceived that it had been granted to her as a merciful respite. The long weeks that enwrapped her with sunlight, instilled strength and the power of resistance into her nature, and prepared her, in some slight measure, for the struggle, the pain, the infinite sorrowing of the future. And although she did not, even for a day, leave Grangeford, it being the first time in her life that she had not gone East for the summer, she found that just here, at home, she was learn- ing more of the real joys of country life, the pretty secrets of field and wood and stream, than all the months at Bar Harbor and Narragansett and Manchester-by-the-sea had ever taught her. She was living with and for her baby. Each day the little image was inshrined more beauti- fully in her heart. Each day the tiny creature became more beloved. And her husband watched her with grow- ing satisfaction as she bathed it, dressed it, walked with it, or hung over its crib at night. He saw that, at length, through the child, Virginia would come to him. He lost his crude desire to break her will by force. And although young babies were a mystery, almost a terror to him, still he was pleased with his daughter for aiding his cause; 72 THE FIRE OF SPRING and she held a genuine, though slightly undefined, place in his heart. August passed silently through the great gate of Past Time; and September flashed in, crowned with red an'd golden fruits, girdled with purple and white grapes, and robed in sheaves of yellow grain. Sometimes, now, the days were fiercely hot ; but soon there lay, hidden in de- ceiving sunshine, a little, frosty tang. Virginia, driving aimlessly about the country in her low phaeton, nurse and baby beside her, read, for the first time, with seeing eyes, the glory of autumn, and marvelled at the wonder of the woods. And all the time she was facing, tranquilly, al- most with joy, the prospect of winter in Grangeford. In these days Virginia grew beautiful with more than the mere pink-and-whiteness of extreme youth. Her simple mode of life, the natural love she felt, her joy in the open air, and, more than all, her increasing contentment, were writing themselves upon her face. Atkinson, and even Van Studdiford, gazed at her from time to time in wonder, so restful was her presence, so different she from her younger self. Never, perhaps, had miracle of Mother- hood been more beautifully wrought ; for selfish, frivolous, pretty Virginia had been wholly transformed through the presence of her child. The person to whom this change was most apparent and most delightful, was Virginia's own Mother. In Oc- tober Mrs. Merrill came to Grangeford for ten days, to recuperate a little from a difficult summer, and to prepare for a winter more difficult yet. Alas, poor woman ! added years were scarcely bringing added rest. The great, 6 73 THE FIRE OF SPRING = Michigan Avenue house had again been rented ; and John Merrill, (now almost as much of a child as his grand- daughter), his man nurse and his wife, were to begin a new period of wandering, another search after help which, pathetically, all of them, even the invalid himself, knew to be utterly vain. Mrs. Merrill, older by many years than she had been on the day of Virginia's marriage, yet preserving still, at whatever cost, her charming presence and her infinite tact, found herself a welcome guest in the house of her son-in- law. Charles admired her extremely, and liked to have her at hand, though before her, of all women, he was acutely conscious of certain mistakes in his training. It was a very happy ten days that Mother and daugh- ter spent together. Mrs. Merrill, seeing Virginia's new peace of mind, forbore to disturb it by any minute details of her Father's condition. Indeed, so far as she could, she tried herself to throw the remembrance of it off, to lay her burden down while she rested, and to interest herself wholly in her daughter's surroundings. Virginia was moved to entertain a little in her Mother's honor: giving a luncheon and a small tea for her. And Grange- ford was not backward in returning the invitations. The two ladies, Charles, and Philip, were even asked out to supper several times ; for the town had long since found that none of this family that were accustomed to dine at night, were in any way to be stood in awe of. Mrs. Merrill who, a year before, had forced herself to be interested in these, Virginia's people, now found that they would bear interest of the sincere kind. There was about them a 74 THE FIRE OF SPRING straightforwardness, a dignity, a sincerity, quite unknown among the men and women who had once formed her "set" in town. These people did not drink. Not a woman among them had ever dreamed of smoking. There were no flirtations among unmatched husbands and wives. On the other hand, there was such a thing as genuine wit among them. They had also a conventionality of their own: a code almost as strict as, but utterly different from, the laws of fashion in great cities. Such as they were, Caro- line Merrill, a true gentlewoman educated in a bad school, liked them, but, more than that, was glad that her daugh- ter's lines had fallen in their places. There was but one person in Grangeford, and he a member of Van Studdiford's own household, with whom Mrs. Merrill was not wholly pleased, did not, indeed, entirely trust. This was Philip Atkinson: Philip, the debonair, the polished, the charming ! She said not a word on the subject to anyone, least of all to Virginia. Some- times she even wondered at the voice of her own instinct. Yet she found herself watching him, for Virginia's sake, as only a Mother can. And had his conduct toward her daughter, or even Virginia's toward him, ever flown the smallest danger-flag Mrs. Merrill would not have scrupled to carry her plans for change to Charles. But the rela- tionship between the two bore infinite watching. Vir- ginia's attitude was too friendly, too transparently open, for the faintest suspicion to attach itself thereto. And, closely as she looked, Mrs. Merrill never detected in Philip a single trace of what she feared. Yet, because she still doubted Virginia's secret feeling toward her husband, the 75 THE FIRE OF SPRING Mother left Grangeford with one, tiny blot upon her hap- piness : a sense of possibilities. It was the thirtieth day of October when Mrs. Mer- rill departed to join her husband at Hot Springs. On the first of November Virginia was suddenly confronted with the prospect of entire desertion for a few days. Charles announced that he was obliged to go West on business : first to Denver, where his sister was ; and then on to San Francisco, for at least five days, in order to examine certain papers belonging to a mine in which he had large interests. He would probably be gone for three weeks ; and gave his wife her choice about accompanying him. With an inward sigh of relief, Virginia explained that she could not possibly leave the baby. And there- upon, at once, of his own accord, Philip prepared to go to Chicago, for a little business and rather more vacation, while his cousin should be away, seizing the same oppor- tunity to visit his sister, Mme. Dupre, who had taken an apartment of her own in the Dirty City for the winter, and declared her intention of reconciling herself to it as a permanent residence. Philip left Grangeford on the third of November, Charles on the fifth. And on the latter morning Virginia stood in a window of the drawing-room, holding the baby in her arms, to wave her husband goodbye as the runabout dashed away up the road. Then, with a deep sigh of relief, she turned her face indoors, feeling, as she did so, a quick upliftment of the heart. He was not here. Charles was not here ! She could walk suddenly into any room in the house the library, the smoking-room and 76 THE FIRE OF SPRING he would not be before her, his bald forehead, his red mustache! Oh, exquisite freedom! Oh, miserable Vir- ginia! most miserable in thy peace! She carried the baby up to the nursery for its morning bath ; and it seemed to her, as she went, that the very at- mosphere of the house had changed. There was a sodden weight that was gone from it. He was gone. And now, had she chosen either to think or to examine herself, she might have discovered, to a nicety, her feeling for him. But she did not think. She would not examine. This morning she herself gave the little Caroline her bath ; and while she was in the midst of the pretty task, Marion Hunt arrived, demanding to know if she were not miserably lonely. At the question, Virginia laughed. " Why should I be, please, Marion ? At this hour of the day I am always alone ; unless you are good enough to come in to see me." ' " Oh, but the sense that they are gone Oh, well, I'm glad you don't mind it." Ah! If Marion only knew what that sense of soli- tude meant ! But, as a matter of fact, Marion herself was the lonely one. This morning she was willing enough to confess that Grangeford was dull. Nevertheless, Marion was still busy being sensible. She was always described as such a " sensible " girl ; and the adjective never failed to flatter her. It meant that she understood cooking; that she could make her own shirt-waists ; that you could trust her, on going alone to Chicago, to buy only the things she went to buy ; and also, last and climactic, that she never fell in love. Perhaps, if Grangeford knew how 77 THE FIRE OF SPRING little Marion merited this last opinion, she would never have been called sensible again. Virginia knew, and smiled over the matter, but never told a word of what she had seen ; so that the gradual cessation of Philip's atten- tions was laid, by Grangeford the obtuse, to the door of Marion's own, sensible wishes. And thankful enough was Marion for this mistake. If Virginia knew, this morn- ing, that it was her friend who was lonely and unhappy, she did not betray the knowledge, but kept Marion to lunch, amused her with music and chatter, and sent her home at three o'clock considerably enlivened, though she had refused Marion's invitation to sleep at the Hunt house for the next three weeks. During the following seven days the young Mistress of the Van Studdiford place had little enough time for blues or loneliness. Half Grangeford came to her with invitations or tacit requests for them. And Virginia tried hard to be polite without having to ask everyone to a meal. She herself should have enjoyed life so much if only they had left her alone ; for this autumn she had no dread of loneliness. But, though her every hour was occupied, only one day of her first week proved in any way memorable ; and that was the eleventh of November : the last day of unalloyed content that she was to know for many, many years. It was a Saturday; and, in answer to her invitation, Philip and Mme. Dupre were coming to lunch with her. She had not seen Philip's sister since the May before her wedding. But, in that long-passed visit, she had con- ceived an admiration for the rather too well known 78 THE FIRE OF SPRING woman that she had never forgotten. And as Van Studdi- ford did not like Philip's only sister, did not, indeed, though he had never said so, care to have her come in contact with his young wife, Virginia made the most of her liberty to continue the acquaintance. Young Mrs. Van Studdiford spent a good deal of thought, and her cook a good deal of time, over that lunch- eon. The hour was later than customary : two o'clock ; for Mme. Dupre wrote that she could not come by the earlier train. On their arrival, at the exact hour named, (for Mme. Dupre had the French idea of punctuality,) the Brother and Sister were ushered at once into the din- ing-room, where iced grape-fruit waited at each place. In the center of the table was a moss mound stuck full of deep red chrysanthemums: a color toning well with Virginia's costume of reddish brown, and harmonizing singularly with the sunny auburn of Mme. Dupre's changeable hair. Philip and Virginia were seated at op- posite sides of the square table, with the guest between them. And, gazing across the flower-mound, Philip realized keenly that there was actually one woman in the world comparable to his wonderful sister. But while Georgiana's eyes were deep with the fire of great knowl- edge of men and the world, Virginia's were wide and clear and too transparent. And where Georgiana's smooth face bore the indelible signs of vivid life, of emotion, of passion, Virginia's rose-leaf skin was still nearly a blank page, open to the pen of Time. And where the older woman talked always with the brilliance and the restraint of infinite experience, the younger was content 79 THE FIRE OF SPRING to listen with the open interest and admiration of one unused to and unskilled in the great and dangerous game of the spoken word. Thus, while he looked on, Philip Atkinson suddenly felt rising within him an overweening desire : the desire to participate in the instruction of his cousin's wife in that art of which he was so devoted a disciple, and in which his sister had been an instructress almost as potent as Experience. While they sat at table, the conversation ranged over a wide list of impersonal topics. But at the conclusion of the meal, when the trio adjourned to the drawing- room, where Madame and her Brother lighted their cigar- ettes and Virginia seated herself at the piano, letting her fingers wander softly over the keys, through fragrant bits of pianissimo melody that rose like incense at the shrine of the other woman, Georgiana was moved to daring. She came and leaned over the piano, the faint smoke from her lips wreathing itself about her ruddy hair ; her large, dark blue eyes gazing searchingly into the delicate face uplifted to hers ; and, when her spell was woven, asking, dreamily : " Are you happy, child, with red Cousin Charles ? " Then, to her astonishment, she found Virginia proof against her. The music never stopped; but the player smiled, bafflingly, into her questioner's eyes. " I wonder who is happy ? " was her low reply. There was a little pause. Virginia sat wondering at her own diplomacy. Georgiana was recovering herself, and, finally, spoke again. " When you desire happiness," she observed, " I can tell you where it lies." 80 THE FIRE OF SPRING " Can you ? " returned Virginia, with the peace of a quiet soul rising to her lips. " I wonder ? " It was a quarter past five when Virginia, having left her guests at the station, returned to the house, alone. She was met at the door by the baby's nurse, who had been anxiously waiting for her release. " Madam, the baby's sick, I'm sure. She's been took with what acts like a chill. I don't think the milk agrees with her very well. It's likely a little indigestion." Stopping not even to remove her gloves, Virginia flew upstairs to the nursery, finding the baby there, well wrapped up and lying in her crib. The little face was very white, and the little form trembled, from time to time, with a faint, light cough. Otherwise the child lay very still. " What in the world shall we do, Meta ? " asked Vir- ginia, in a low voice. " If you could stay by her, Ma'am, I could run for Doctor Hollis." " Oh ! Of course ! I never thought of the Doctor. Thomas shall go this instant, with the mare." And Virginia ran away again, a vivid sense of relief at her heart. What sickness could hold against Hollis' gentle skill? But Doctor Hollis was in the country, at another urgent bedside ; and Thomas had not initiative enough to go at once for Haswell. He only left a message with Mrs. Hollis to send the Doctor as soon as he returned. Virginia listened perfunctorily to his report, when finally he returned without help ; and then she turned back to Si THE FIRE OF SPRING = the nursery, where the baby now lay in a hot fever. For two hours the women worked and sat over the child alone, Meta taking rather a reassuring view of the case, her experience having taught her that a young child can be very ill upon slight cause. Nevertheless, Virginia was badly frightened ; and the sight of the Doctor, when, at seven o'clock, he finally arrived, was comforting enough. Hollis made a thorough examination of the baby, closely questioning both nurse and Mother as to where the little thing had been, what she had eaten, whom she had seen; then he mixed some medicines, gave the first dose himself, and accepted Virginia's invitation to stay to dinner. " Ah ! I've had nothing since eleven o'clock this morning, Mrs. Van Studdiford ; and I'm famished ! " he observed, cheerily, as they sat down at table. And it was well that one of them could eat. Though Hollis pressed her further than politeness admitted, Virginia, after three perfunctory spoonsful of bouillon, sat crumbling her bread, nervously, but did not pretend to use her fork. For a few moments they managed to talk on impersonal matters. But at last Virginia leaned forward, pathet- ically, and asked: " What is the matter with her, Doctor ? " For more than a minute Hollis hesitated. Then he answered, quietly : " I hope, Mrs. Van Studdiford, that it is simply a sharp stomach attack. Children, even little babies, are very prone to them, you know." " You hope this ? " Virginia's eyes questioned him further. 82 THE FIRE OF SPRING " I hope so. It might be one of well, two other things. At present it is too soon to say. If the fever lessens to-night, she will be perfectly right in a couple of days." " And that little cough ? " " Stomach, my dear Lady. Stomach ! Please eat." But neither that night nor during the following day, nearly the whole of which Hollis spent at the house, did Caroline's fever lessen. By nightfall of the second day it was plain, even to Meta, that indigestion was not the cause of the baby's illness. Moreover, the Doctor had now assured himself which of the other possibilities had become a certainty. The little thing could lie only in one position. If moved in the least from that, she would scream in a tone that pierced the Mother's heart. The faint, dry cough remained; and, though it seemed so slight, it had, from the first, worried Virginia more than anything else ; and Hollis, having listened to it carefully, shook his head. The baby, in short, had pneumonia; though how she had taken it, when, or where, Mother and nurse racked their brains to think. Virginia was right, perhaps, when she cried to herself, despairingly : " It is Fate ! It is my dreadful Fate ! " All day Sunday Meta and her mistress hung over the crib. Nor could Virginia be persuaded to leave the nursery either to eat or to sleep. Lucy Markle brought food to her, at intervals, on a tray. And at night she slept a little on the nursery couch, while Meta watched; the positions being reversed every two hours. On Monday, the thirteenth, Hollis came very early in 83 THE FIRE OF SPRING the morning ; but later he was forced to set off on a round of country calls. At four in the afternoon Virginia, tak- ing the baby's temperature, found that it had gone down a degree and a half, the thermometer standing at ioi|. At once her spirits rose, and she cried to Meta, wildly, that the baby was better, and then rushed downstairs to telephone the good news to the Doctor. To her astonish- ment Hollis, hearing the cause of her rapture, said, in a grave tone, that he would come up, at once. As a matter of fact, though Virginia did not dream it, there could not have been a more alarming symptom. It would have been far better had the thermometer recorded a degree more fever, since night was coming on, and at that time the temperature naturally rises. When he had watched the child's breathing for half an hour, and had changed one of the medicines, Hollis turned, with a solemn face, and asked Virginia to go downstairs with him for a moment. She followed him to the drawing-room, the heart in her breast throbbing, painfully. They sat down, facing each other, in one corner of the room. Jim Hollis cleared his throat, but found it no easier to speak the words that must be spoken to this lonely Mother. " Mrs. Van Studdiford," he said, beginning, coward- like, at the easiest end of his task, " I should like your permission to telegraph to Chicago, to the Hahnemann Hospital, for a nurse. It will not only lighten your care, but an experienced trained-nurse is almost a necessity, now. If the hardening spreads, we shall have to resort to rather extreme measures. You are willing ? " " Oh, yes ! Yes, Doctor ! Get two nurses if you like. 84 THE FIRE OF SPRING Doctor Hollis " She rose, suddenly, her hands clasped tight before her, her face white and strained and old: " Doctor Hollis, you'll you'll save ray Baby for me, won't you ? Doctor you I " " Stop it, Mrs. Van Studdiford ! Stop, at once ! You mustn't break down ! I can't have that, you know. The little one will be all right if you don't fail her. There, there. You see you've been overdoing it, rather. That's right. Have you got any salts ? Good. Now you'll do. But Mrs. Van Studdiford, since you're necessarily nerv- ous ah wouldn't it be a help to you to have Charles back? Suppose, now, you let me send a wire to him when I've sent for our nurse, just suggesting that he come on as soon as convenient ? " He paused, looking down at her tentatively. She sat huddled up in her chair, motionless, her face shrunken, her eyes fixed in a stare. " You want Charles to come back ? You're sure she can't live ? " The tone was hard and rough. " Upon my soul, no ! I certainly think we shall pull her through. But, my dear lady, I have to depend on you, you know. If you allow yourself to go to pieces Come now, give me Charles' address, for I must be off. Pull yourself together ; and the nurse will be here by the earli- est train in the morning." Virginia gave the street and number of the Denver house where Mary was staying, saw the Doctor leave, and then remounted the stairs to the nursery and went over to the bed, wondering if, a week before, she should have thought it possible that the white, pinched, 85 THE FIRE OF SPRI.\G = frail little creature before her could have been her rosy baby. The endless night crept by, and the morning of the fourteenth dawned. The baby-wail, feebler than before, now sounded almost incessantly ; for the right pleura was affected, and the pain constant and intense. At eleven o'clock the nurse arrived : a quiet, motherly woman, who sent Meta away to sleep at once, and after a time pre- vailed upon Virginia to do the same. In the meantime, Doctor Hollis had sent two tele- grams on Virginia's behalf : the first to Charles, in Den- ver, the second to Mrs. Merrill, at Hot Springs, where he bad heard she was staying. And by the Fate that overhung Virginia, neither message reached its destina- tion. Charles, taking Mary with him, had already hur- ried on to San Francisco, not even leaving the name of his prospective hotel with his relatives ; and the Merrills, having found Hot Springs overcrowded and uncomforta- ble, had gone further South, to Georgia; and their tele- gram lay on the desk of the Hot Springs Hotel till it was finally thrown away. Wednesday, the fifteenth of November, dragged it- self wearily to a dose. It had been a raw, gray day ; and everyone in the Van Studdiford household rejoiced when the dull light had faded, and the lights could be turned up. In the sickroom a low lamp burned, and the nurse hummed, softly, while she made the preparations for the night. The sound of the tune comforted Virginia a little, as she sat at one of the windows, her forehead pressed against the cool pane. Could the nurse have 86 THE FIRE OF SPRIXG hummed like that if the baby was in imminent danger? Alas ! The nurse could, and did, because of her pity for the pathetically lonely Mother. AH through that night the baby fought for breath. All through the night air was fanned, gently, into her open mouth. But with each short gasp a little strength flowed away ; and when, at seven in the morning, Hollis came, he and the nurse searched each other's eyes, and, reading what was written in each, forebore to speak. On that day, Thursday, the sixteenth of November, Virginia witnessed dreadful things. Twice, in the morn- ing, she saw Miss Morrison, watching the baby's face, seize the delicate little creature by the legs and swing it through the air. Twice the Mother, screaming, rushed to stop it ; but each time saw the beloved little form laid tenderly down again, the lost breath forced back, for a little while, into the rapidly closing lungs. At noon the Doctor arrived, bringing belated oxygen and the apparatus for its use. At once he ordered Virginia to her own room, to eat something and to lie down until four o'clock. Vainly did she beg and protest He would not hear of disobedience ; he would not allow her to remain watching longer. For the moment, then, she surren- dered. But, at two o'clock, unable to close her eyes or even to lie still, she crept to the nursery door and knelt before it, listening to the faint sounds from with- in. Minutes passed. Half an hour. An hour. She never moved. In the agony of her mind she had become quite insensible to time. But she was waiting for some- thing : what, she scarcely knew. Ah ! This was no Vir- 87 THE FIRE OF SPRING = ginia Merrill! This, alas! was the Mother of a child. She knelt on and on, till the tired muscles stiffened, and her head rested against the frame. Finally, at half past three, the door opened, sharply, and Virginia fell for- ward across the threshold, in a kind of numb faint. Hollis picked her up, gently, tenderly, and soothed her like a woman. " I was coming for you," he said, quietly. " You mustn't faint. You're a strong woman ; a strong, brave woman, you know." For a moment or two he waited, while she re- gained command of her faculties. Then, mechanically, she straightened. " Take me to my baby," she said. " Yes. Come. I will help you to her." The day was already passing, and the light in the room was gray and uncertain as Virginia made her progress to the bed. The oxygen apparatus had been laid aside. It had done its work. The little, drawn, shrunken baby could not use it now. Virginia, even while she looked upon her child, perceived that Meta was in the room, tears rolling down her cheeks. Miss Morrison had turned her back upon the scene ; but Hollis stood firm, close by. " Carol little Carol Mother's darling," murmured Virginia, very softly; and laid her hands upon the little form. A change passed over the baby-face. Even at this hour she knew her Mother's voice. Instantly, Virginia took her up into her yearning arms, clasping her close, close to her breast. There was a faint, tired cry. Then silence. The little body slowly stiffened, but the Mother did not perceive. For long minutes she remained mo- tionless, her clasp growing convulsive, her lips murmur- 88 THE FIRE OF SPRING ing mother-words. Then Miss Morrison turned again. Hollis stepped forward, and touched her arm. " Poor child ! " he muttered, hoarsely. Virginia stared at him. Then, swiftly, horribly, her face changed. " What do you mean ? " she uttered. A sense, a new, dreadful knowledge, came into her arms. Suddenly she screamed : " Oh, God ! Oh, my God ! She's dead! Oh, take it away from me ! Take it away ! " Hollis got the body from her before she fell. Night came: the dreadful night, wherein crept upon Virginia the great, lonely terror. Through the dark hours she lay in her brightly-lighted room, with Lucy Markle always at her side, Miss Morrison flitting in and out, Hollis there at least twice. It was well, indeed, that Hollis was a capable man; for, in that deserted household, the head of it a stricken child, there was nothing but excited confusion. But, quickly and quietly, Hollis made all the black arrange- ments. Hollis sent innumerable telegrams, reaching Van Studdiford, and even, finally, the Merrills. Further, by merciful means, the Doctor finally put Virginia to sleep. Then, exhausted, he himself went home, eager for the ministrations of his wife, who was waiting for him. While the Doctor slept, his work went on. From the West coast, where, in the Palace Hotel, Charles was making frantic inquiries about special trains, to distant Augusta, where a brave and sore-tried woman was hurry- ing her arrangements to leave a sick husband to go to 7 89 THE FIRE OF SPRING = a heart-broken child, many people had been startled by the swift news of the little heiress' death. And yet, through all the morning of the seventeenth, the great Van Studdiford house remained impenetrable to visitors. Vir- ginia would see none but " members of the family." Even the Hunts had been refused; for they came early, when Virginia was scarcely free from the effects of her drug; and she seemed to feel that, in time of trouble, Marion's sensibleness would overpower her sympathy. Thus, by noon, Virginia had seen no one save her maid and the nurse. For no members of the family had yet arrived. At two o'clock, however, Carson was called, for the hundredth time, to the door, to find a tall, rain-soaked figure standing on the veranda, waiting for admittance. " Oh ! Mr. Atkinson, Sir ! You may come in, please. My orders to admit only the family, Sir." " I won't ask to see Mrs. Van Studdiford, unless she wishes it. But I shall be glad to stay here to-night if she wants me. Charles can't arrive for sixty hours more at best. Take my coat, Carson. Have it dried. No. Leave the box." " If you'll step into the drawing-room, Sir. Madam's upstairs, I think. I'll take your message." Carson disappeared, with the wet coat, and Philip turned to open the box he had brought with him. He took from it a great, flat bouquet of white carnations, from which hung long streamers of satin ribbon. Few men could have trusted themselves to carry such a thing. But he had brought it as his tribute to Virginia. To him it harmonized with her grief and the cause of her grief ; and 90 THE FIRE OF SPRING he thought little of his manner of bearing it as he entered the silent drawing-room. For there was, in Atkinson, a vein of real sympathy and tenderness that few men would have comprehended. The drawing-room, its shades pulled down, was wrapped in gloom. Philip, coming from gray daylight, could at first see almost nothing. He moved, by instinct, to a sofa, and seated himself, gazing reflectively at his flowers. Presently he started to his feet again. The drawing-room was not empty. Someone was certainly here. Someone had moved. Someone had sobbed. Out of the shadows at the far end appeared the black- robed figure of a woman. He had a moment's glimpse of a white, haggard face, framed in rich hair. He saw a slender figure, almost swaying as it approached him. He heard the high note of relief in the broken voice that cried : "Philip!" The carnations dropped from his hand. He started for- ward, reached her, and caught her in his arms, enfolding her tightly, till she felt herself protected, even comforted a little. " Oh, Philip ! " she moaned again. And, like a tired child, she laid her head upon his shoulder. They stood thus, in the darkness, for a full minute. Then she perceived that his hand was laid upon her hair : that the touch was a caress. She lifted her head a little, and looked into his face. Another moment. Then, slowly, irresistibly he kissed her on the lips. And still she stood there, spell-bound, while, from her 91 THE FIRE OF SPRING = heart, through all her veins, came a slow, fierce fire, upward-creeping : the fire which, at the same instant, the instant of the kiss, had been kindled in their two souls, and was not to be extinguished till the Great Divider had laid His knife between them. " Philip oh, Philip ! " she murmured, again, in the darkness. 92 CHAPTER VI VAN STUDDIFORD did not get home until the day after the funeral. Perhaps, had he arrived in the midst of all the outward tumult of grief, the meeting between him and Virginia might have done the work of bitter years, in the way of softening the relationship between them. As it was, his coming could not have been worse timed. Virginia, relieved of the unbearable strain of being alone in the house with her baby's empty frame : Virginia, sur- rounded by a loving group, her Mother, the Hunts, Doc- tor Hollis, Mme. Dupre and Atkinson, had now sunk into a state of utter apathy. With this she met her husband. And Van Studdiford, whose grief was more one of lost potentiality than of any heartfelt sorrow, betrayed toward her no outward emotion, and himself felt little but an in- ward apathy. Reaching Grangeford at 11.40, he lunched at home, and left for the factory at a quarter past two, wondering why in the world he should have been sum- moned so peremptorily to drop important business and come back to a home where he was not needed. Cer- tainly Virginia did not need him. Ah! What a crying pity that the wife should not have been still alone, and in her first grief, when he came back to her ! What a misfortune that seventy-two hours' 93 THE FIRE OF SPRING = delay must be atoned for by a quarter as many years of wretchedness on both sides ! But, as it was, the situation that slowly developed was inevitable. Mrs. Merrill remained in Grangeford for a fortnight ; and during that time rather a remarkable change took place in her own mental attitude with regard to her son-in- law and his cousin. Hitherto she had strongly distrusted Philip, and had felt, if not real affection at least a great respect for and confidence in Charles, and all that he did. His present behavior was rapidly changing this. She saw him, apparently quite unmoved by the baby's death, short, silent, wrapped in his business, leaving Virginia, from morning to night, entirely to her own resources. On the other hand Philip, who was respectful almost to the point of formality, contrived to spend considerable time with the two ladies, and, in that time, his attitude of sympathy, consideration, tact, and gentleness, was so perfect, so above reproach, that Mrs. Merrill, herself un- happy and depressed, could not but take pleasure in his so- ciety. And because of this, how should she not forget all that evil tongues had said of him ? the tales of a discred- itable business life; the whispered stories of his love- affairs, her own former instinct of distrust ? How could she counsel Virginia still to beware ? And how could the daughter, quickly perceiving her Mother's attitude, help slipping into the habit of dependence on Philip's com- pany, and do her best to forget that one incident of the kiss, the mere thought of which could still send her into a panic of suppressed feeling? In the last week of November Mrs. Merrill was obliged 94 THE FIRE OF SPRING to return to Augusta ; and Virginia was left alone to face another country winter. Ah ! What had not fifteen short days done with her pretty, tranquil life ? And yet, grieve as she did, sincerely, the bereaved wife could not but realize in her own heart that she was less utterly dreary than she had been at the same season the year before. It is possible that she would not have admitted this aloud. And it is certain that she endured many long, lonely, broken-hearted days. But Mrs. Van Studdiford was not yet twenty years old. And, bitter as it had been, how could her short experience have been expected to kill all the elasticity, the spirit, the everlasting, bubbling, spark- ling force of youth at nineteen? Moreover, Virginia was in excellent health. She had now no reason for the morbid depression fostered by her condition of a year before. She missed her baby terribly; for she had been a true and loving Mother. But she was not yet of an age to have reached the state of assurance that a tranquil home life, the love of husband and children, is, after all, the only true and lasting happiness. Poor Virginia did not love her husband: had been robbed of her child. What, then, was her future? What awaited her in that black beyond? Ah youth stood at her elbow, urging. Love lurked in the distant shadows that love whose face she had not yet seen. But his low song was already audible, and she listened. In all her life, Virginia had known but one real kiss. By that, a fire had been kindled within her, burning faintly as yet, but in need only of the slightest encouragement to rise in an all-consuming flame. The Van Studdiford household had, of course, gone 95 THE FIRE OF SPRING = into mourning. Charles wore crape on his sleeve and hat, and exchanged his red tie for a black one. His wife was in black, and bands had been sewed upon the plum-colored liveries of the footmen. Virginia had never before owned a black garment ; and she was still unaware that it was more becoming to her than any color. True, there were few to see her in it ; for this was the gay season in Grange- ford, and every one was planning or going to entertain- ments from which she was, as a matter of course, excluded. She had many calls of condolence ; but to most of these, with her usual shyness, she denied herself. Once more, then, as a year before, she was thrown upon her own re- sources : Marion and music. Doctor Hollis was not needed now ; but he had a substitute one who rather more than filled his former place ; one who should not have filled it at all : the third member of the Van Studdiford household. At the present time, Atkinson was as much a part of the household as he had been before his cousin's marriage. He was working very steadily this winter; and Charles watched him with real satisfaction, perceiving that now- adays he went rarely to Chicago, and that in more than two months he had not, for a single night, been unaccount- ably absent. Atkinson was, perhaps, as much surprised as any one at his growing interest in Grangeford affairs. If he had an interest, a keen interest, in the house in which he lived, he never questioned himself upon the subject. He knew that he was in the delightful stage of daily dis- covery ; and he was too much of an artist to hasten mat- ters, or to indulge in any sort of self-analysis. In his garden was the tender green of a new plant, and he was 96 THE FIRE OF SPRING = content to let nature keep the place of gardener. Incident and circumstance, the sunshine and the rain of growing love, must feed this passion-vine: must, little by little, bring a bud thereto, and develop it into the perfect-petalled flower. And who, understanding it, could have the heart to hurry a process so exquisite? The object of Philip's dreams and delusive metaphors, to do her justice, was perfectly unconscious of them, and also of the imminent danger of her own state of mind. Yet, by her unwillingness to indulge in any introspection, Virginia was, unquestionably, open to some sort of re- proof. She was pursuing an uneven, nay, an eccentric course; but she asked no advice, even of herself, con- cerning her road. She was passing through a dangerous stretch, leading from the valley of quiet sorrow up to the wild and lofty heights of unnatural happiness. Day by day, if she would but notice, she could perceive the situa- tion defining itself. But it was not till after New Year's, in the January of 1897, that she found herself taking deliberate action. Then, by means of a little series of accidents leading up to a scene long desired by the man, everything became clear. It was a bitter cold day toward the middle of the month. Van Studdiford was away : had gone, that morn- ing, to Chicago, and was not to return before seven in the evening at the earliest. Philip, of course, was at the factory ; but, as he left the house after luncheon, Virginia had asked him, laughingly, if he would not come home to take tea with her, that afternoon, at five o'clock. She had had little idea of his taking the invitation seriously ; 97 THE FIRE OF SPRING = but when he accepted it she experienced a sensation of very real pleasure. At two she went to her room, lay down, and fell asleep, not waking till four. Opening her eyes she found Lucy standing by the bed, with the an- nouncement that Miss Hunt had called, and was waiting downstairs to know if she could see Mrs. Van Studdi- ford. It was on Virginia's lips to have her shown up- stairs when the remembrance of her prospective tea-party came back. " Oh, I'm sleepy, Lucy," she said, petulantly. " Tell Miss Hunt that I'm not awake yet and you can't dis- turb me." " Yes, Madam." And Lucy, thinking nothing of the message, slipped away, leaving Virginia staring up at the ceiling, wondering why in the world she had yielded to that impulse. In a moment or two the maid was back again, mov- ing softly about the room arranging her Mistress' dinner gown and the details of the toilet. Virginia lay silently watching her till, having finished, she turned to ask: " Will you sleep again ? Shall I have Carson serve tea in your room, Madam ? " Then Virginia jumped up, suddenly. " No. No ! Is it late? Mr. Atkinson's coming to have tea with me, at five o'clock. I want it served in the drawing-room. Dress me quickly. What am I to wear ? " " I think, Madam, that Mr. Atkinson admires you in the black lace Princesse gown." Virginia looked at her sharply. " How do you know what he admires? that he admires me? " she demanded. 98 THE FIRE OF SPRING Lucy lowered her eyes. " Everyone admires you, Madam." For a moment or two Virginia continued to stare. Then her face broke into a smile. " Well bring the black lace, then. Oh I wish I could wear something beside black or white, just for an hour ! " " Black is the most becoming thing you can put on," ventured Lucy, retiring to the wardrobe. And the con- versation closed. It was, however, notable that, particular as Lucy al- ways was about her Mistress' toilets, she was not, upon this occasion, as anxious as her lady appeared to be to achieve something unusual. It was the first time that Virginia had seriously considered Philip's possible ad- miration. Probably it was as yet nothing more than the wakening of a latent instinct of flirtation ; with which she should have been familiar enough to have cast it aside upon her wedding day. It was actually, however, some- thing that she had never known until to-day; and, now, dangerous situations were less apt to be feared than igno- rantly courted. Even during the half hour of dressing, Virginia discovered and enjoyed sensations of which, to be sure, she had read, perhaps dreamed, but which she had scarcely believed could form a part of real life. And, when Lucy had finished her, and she stood before her long, cheval glass, she kept her maid busy for some time following out last suggestions; for it was the first time since Mrs. Van Studdiford's wedding day that she had been thoroughly interested in the result of Lucy's labors. 99 THE FIRE OF SPRING = At a quarter to five Virginia, having herself given Carson the instructions about tea, went into the drawing- room, walked to the far end of it, and seated herself, in the dusk, at the piano. To her extreme surprise, she was nervous. Her hands lay cold upon the keys; her heart was beating unsteadily. Yes. She was nervous ; because Philip Atkinson was coming home to take tea with her ! Cousin Philip, whom, for six months, she had thought of as just a member of the family! What in the world had changed him so, in her eyes? She could not think. She would not think. But it was a long train of in- cidents, insignificant in themselves, taking their root in what was not insignificant. They had sprung from dark- ness. They were embedded in a kiss. The kiss. Virginia sat quite still, her head bowed over the keys, waiting till the dusk had died. Then she rose and turned up a light in the hand of a bronze figure beside the piano. Immediately thereafter Carson brought in tea, arranged it on the usual table beside her, and retired, without a word. It was past five. Philip had not come. Ah ! He had forgotten all about it! Of course! He was at the fac- tory. He was busy as busy as Charles. And she she was a fool! Bitter tears trembled on her lashes, and the affair might have ended valuably. But, just then, the front door opened and shut. There were hurried steps through the hall, toward the stairs; and Virginia knew that it was Atkinson. Already his step distinguished itself to her. The tears went back, swiftly ; but the delay had served to restore her own composure, and part of IOO THE FIRE OF SPRING her common sense. Now she poured out her own tea, and was sipping it, tranquilly, when Atkinson, clean, well-brushed, easy as usual, came in, closing the door after him. He walked slowly down the room, his lips curved into a slight smile. The color crept up Virginia's cheeks as she read the comment in his eyes. She did not rise, as she held out her hand, which he carried to his lips, with an air so ceremonious that she could not pro- test. Then he seated himself opposite her, and, waiting for his tea, began to talk, gayly. Under the lightness of his tones Virginia's second embarrassment melted away,- and she answered him in kind, relieved that he had been able so easily to remove the strain, and yet half wishing that he might allow it to return. It did. Atkinson kept up his banter till the little meal was over. Then, as she moved instinctively to the piano, he stood in the little curve on the right side of the instrument, and watched her. She played, softly, that rich, low, stately melody that opens the etude number 3, opus 10, of Chopin. And the music wove its spell about them both, not more upon her than him, for his tempera- ment was markedly impressionable. " How long have you been able to play like that? " he asked, at last, slowly. She smiled. " I don't know. Anyone can play Chopin : anyone, I mean, that loves him well enough." " And could you also play upon anyone whom you loved enough ? " Deliberately she lifted her eyes to his. Her answer, whether she intended it or not, was in the look. 101 THE FIRE OF SPRING = " Virginia ! " he murmured. The melody died. Her hands lay quiet in her lap, till he came and lifted one of them. Then, overcome with a quick dizziness, she rose, suddenly. And, as suddenly, he caught her in his arms, and kissed her again and twice and thrice, till, with a cry, she escaped from him, and ran out of the room. Atkinson remained just where she had left him. He was amazed at himself. He had not in the least intended to do what he had done. And, question himself as he would, he could not perceive how he had come to make so precipitate a mistake. Was it possible that he he, a veteran, a skilled artist in this sort of work, could have lost his head? Absurd! But, at least, it should never happen again. That this last resolve of his was kept, was more to his credit than might be supposed. It is true that he had long since perfected himself in the delicate game of pre- tended love. There were very few women whom he could not influence exactly as he chose. But all the secret of his power lay in the fact that, though he was a man of strong- est passions, he had hitherto found himself incapable of a serious attachment. He could always admire any woman whom he took the trouble to captivate. He had never, he himself declared, loved one of them. And now, at the age of thirty-three, he had found, in a country town, a child of nineteen with whom he was not sure of himself. Pre- posterous ! Delightful ! In the weeks that followed, he watched himself closely ; and he discovered that he was not infallible : that perhaps, IO2 HE CAUGHT HER IN HIS ARMS, AND KISSED HER AGAIN. THE FIRE OF SPRING since, after all, there was such a thing as love for him, it would be more than worth while to cultivate it. At least either he ought to go away ; or, so infinitely easier, he ought to stay, fling every better feeling to the winds, and take that which awaited him. But it was a situation not much to his taste. Van Studdiford was his cousin ; and far too much his benefactor. It was this state of vacillation in one hitherto perfectly sure of himself, that produced the strange situation exist- ing in the Van Studdiford house during February and half of March. Philip was giving expression to each fleeting mood; and Virginia, with a nature as impressi- ble as smooth wax, recorded each by her own behavior. Truly, they were not very happy in each other. After his every smallest betrayal of feeling for her, Atkinson's other nature forced him into battle with himself. Years of self-assurance, of indulgence in his every whim, had weakened his character : how incredibly, he was just dis- covering. Even now it was hard to believe that he could not, if he chose, have in one day escaped from his self- forged fetters. It needed many attempts to show him how fast he was bound. And all that those about him perceived or thought of him was, that he had worked very well for some months, and was now simply showing a natural re- action. Frequently, and always without any notice, he disappeared, and, for a day or two at a time, was lost, pre- sumably in the wilderness of Chicago. The presump- tions were correct enough. His old haunts began to know him again. People, men and women, now looked forward to his coming. Out of a sardonic sense of humor, he 103 THE FIRE OF SPRING = hunted up Muriel Howard still living in an agreeable retirement and visible to very few, of whom, however, Atkinson seemed always to be one. In her company, many resorts saw him ; and, after each plunge into infamy, there returned to Grangeford a miserable man, who avoided Virginia Van Studdiford out of very shame. Finally, after a month or two of this, Philip began to perceive that, by a contrast of his own devising, the woman he wished to forget was becoming daily more ex- quisite, more pure, more desirable in his eyes. And so, for a fortnight, from the first to the middle of March, he worked in Grangeford steadily, indulging himself, out of hours, only in certain newly-suggested forms of wor- ship at his consecrated shrine. During these two weeks Virginia knew, at last, some peace of mind. What she had endured during the month of February, went untold. It had been worth a year of schooling in the world. For, in his zeal after self- repression, it had not occurred to him to consider the pos- sible effect of his eccentric methods on the woman he cared for. He never knew what she endured at each dis- appearance. Had he guessed, it would only have been a delight to know that she could suffer thus through him. He was too selfish to pity her : to be remorseful that every slighting reference in regard to his absence from the lips of Van Studdiford, Hollis, even Marion Hunt, who found time to be caustic-tongued nowadays, should be a knife- thrust in her heart. Long, long afterwards, indeed, when at last she could bear to remember this period at all, all that Virginia could recall of it was the many, long after- 104 THE FIRE OF SPRING noons spent in her own room, in pretended sleep. She got into this habit of retirement for the sake of being alone. Even Lucy Markle was not permitted to disturb her. And here, on her bed, sleepless and anxious, she would lie meditating, trying to impress upon herself her only rightful line of procedure. Hour after hour she spent gazing straight before her, out of her Southern window, up a short stretch of snowy road which used to reflect, in sunshine and shadow, every phase of the day till, at length, the patch of sky at the road's end was filled by the glory of the setting sun. And this lonely country out- look became afterwards inextricably interwoven with all the unhappy doubts, all the daring joys, of her perplexed imagination. Many events of moment to her took place upon it ; and in the end, by night, it was always along this road, lengthened, perhaps, by endless miles, that Philip came back to her forever. March came in, on a wild burst of wind. And now, with the cessation of Atkinson's wanderings, a kind of desultory happiness was, for a brief season, renewed. He sought Virginia frequently; and his manner toward her had in it almost a pathos. In their relationship all was in- definite, intangible; but their conversation habitually ran along the borderland of danger. Neither one of them, however, permitted it actually to cross the frontier. There were no kisses now. They talked together in full light, often in the presence of others. No one could ever have surprised them at an awkward moment of the tete-a-tete. But the greater their care, the stronger the realization, on their part and on that of Lucy Markle, that the affair was 8 105 THE FIRE OF SPRING serious. It would have been impossible to go on in this same way for another month without development. Fortunately, or, as they believed, unfortunately, this possibility was prevented by a prospective change, ar- ranged by one who was falling into the power of an in- scrutable, guiding Providence. On the morning of the fifteenth of March, when Atkinson, half an hour late, entered the factory, he was summoned at once to his cousin's private office, where, after a little preliminary, he was told that he was to start West on the following Thurs- day, in company with a young engineer, Henry Fiirst, pro- ceeding directly to Phoenix, Arizona, and thence, a few weeks later, to Sacramento, to examine plans and let con- tracts at those points for branch houses to be devoted es- pecially to the manufacture of the gigantic plows used in Western grain-fields. Atkinson was in the office for two hours. When he came out, he should have understood what had been in his cousin's mind for a month. As it was, all that he really grasped was the fact that, in just three days, he was to leave Grangeford for a period of not less than six weeks. And the utter dismay with which that reflection struck him, should also have shown how necessary it was that he should go. But he felt that he himself did not dare tell Virginia. If he were to see, written on her face, any of the feeling that lay in his own heart, he knew that he should not be able to trust himself. As it came about, then, Virginia learned the news next day, at luncheon, from Van Studdiford. Nor, during the remainder of the meal, could anyone have perceived any special change 1 06 THE FIRE OF SPRING in her expression or her manner. She did not, per- haps, realize, till considerably later in the day, how much that plan of her husband's was going to affect her. And when she did perceive it, she only lay per- fectly still upon her bed, staring out and up to that bit of muddy road, above which scurried masses of gray, jagged clouds. Atkinson was to leave Grangeford early on the morn- ing of Thursday, the eighteenth of March. This Virginia heard on Tuesday. Of the intervening day and night neither she nor Atkinson remembered much. And in the manner of their eventual parting she had absolutely no hand : did nothing more than acquiesce. He arranged it all, taking comfort in the fantastic beauty of his idea : wanting nothing more than was given. Wednesday even- ing dragged, dolefully. The trio, Charles, Philip and Virginia, sat silent in the drawing-room, Charles read- ing, Philip trying hard to fasten his mind on some neces- sary papers, Virginia pretending to sew. From half hour to half hour two of the three wondered why Charles did not go to the library, where all his evenings were accus- tomed to be spent. Virginia asked herself, drearily, if she should be obliged to say good-bye before him. Her face grew quite white with dull, inward anger. When, at half past ten, he had still not moved, she rose, in despera- tion: " I am going upstairs," she announced, petulantly. " Good-night, Charles." " Oh are you? Good-night." Philip had risen when she did. He waited, while she 107 THE FIRE OF SPRING = brushed her husband's forehead with her lips, and then, quite naturally, followed her into the hall. " Surely you are going to say good-bye to me ? " he demanded, aloud. The door shut, behind them. He took her hand. " Forgive me," he began, hurriedly. " I want to see you alone for three minutes. Go to your room and wait. I shall follow you in a quarter of an hour. May I?" She looked at him for one moment, hesitating. But his eyes met hers honestly. Then she smiled, and mur- mured, faintly : " Yes ! " After that, she was gone. Lucy Markle was waiting upstairs, as usual, to put her to bed. But the room ! When Virginia saw it, she stopped still, astounded. The bed was loosely covered with meteor roses. The low mantel-piece was banked with them. They lay scattered on the carpet. They had been flung across the dressing-table, the window-seat, the desk. The whole room breathed the fragrance of the crimson velvet flowers. And in the midst of them, a white lace garment thrown across her arm, stood Lucy, staring at her mistress anxiously. " Lucy, who did this ? " " I, Madam, if you please." " You ! Bah ! Who sent them ? " Lucy's head drooped. " My orders, Madam, were from Mr. Atkinson." " Ah ! How dared you take orders from anyone but me?" " Oh, Madam ! Forgive me ! I thought " 108 THE FIRE OF SPRING Virginia silenced her by a gesture. She turned, exam- ining the room with a straightening mouth. Then, contemptuously sweeping the flowers off one of the chairs, she seated herself, wearily, and let her head fall back, while Lucy stood gazing at her, in anxious uncertainty. The pause lasted for two or three very uncomfortable minutes. Then Virginia opened her eyes again. " I suppose he also told you how you were to let him in ? Put away that thing you have got, and go ! " " I beg your pardon, but am I to let him in ? " Virginia gave some sort of angry ejaculation. Why must she thus be made to decide this thing? After a little, however, seeing that Lucy did not move, she man- aged, a second time, to whisper : " Yes." And Lucy, with a smile and a return of alacrity, hurried away. Left alone, Virginia's mood changed. After all, the idea of the roses had been like him: beautiful, reckless, dangerous. Suppose Charles should come in just now? She started up, terrified, and locked her door from the inside. At the same moment the sound of footsteps reached her ears, and she turned, just as Atkinson halted on the boudoir threshold. He was smiling, joyously, and, examining the room, saw that his idea had been well carried out: that one flower was even clinging to the lace sleeve of her gown, held there by its thorn. But his smile faded when his eyes reached her expression. " You are not pleased ? " he asked, softly. " Philip ! Philip ! How reckless it is ! How am I to get rid of them?" 109 THE FIRE OF SPRING = " What does it matter ? You are to be rid of me sooner." She could not answer in words ; but the sudden change in her face encouraged him. " Virginia haven't you a word for me ? " At last the answer was all that he wished. She was in his arms. There were but two or three minutes more; a few kisses, some incoherent phrases, tears hot from her eyes on his face, some suggestion of letters. Then, with gentle delicacy, he had pressed her hand tight to his lips, and was gone, returning by the way he had come. Virginia was alone. Stooping, she lifted from the floor one perfect flower that his feet had touched. This she wrapped in a soft handkerchief, and laid in a drawer of her desk. Finally, she summoned Lucy from the little room beyond her boudoir. " You must take everyone of these roses away, to your own room. Then, in the morning, early, get rid of them in some way. Come back when you have taken them all out, and undress me." And, as Lucy set to work, Virginia threw herself again into the chair and stared about the empty room so infin- itely empty now. no CHAPTER VII USUALLY Virginia, like all young and healthy people, was an easy sleeper. That night, however, it was three hours past midnight before consciousness would leave her. She tossed and turned and burned upon her bed, tortured with the thought that Philip was still in the house, and that in less than twelve hours he would be irrevocably gone. She longed for day, while she also dreaded it, unspeakably. The thought of Grangeford without a companionship that had grown to be so much to her, was unendurable. She put it from her again and again. Finally, from sheer exhaustion of all thought, she fell into a feverish sleep, which, as the hours passed, grew quieter. It was ten in the morning before she opened her eyes, to find Lucy standing beside her bed with a tray on which was a small pot of coffee, a pitcher of hot milk, two rolls, and the usual egg. For a moment or two she stared dully at her maid, groping for the meaning of the weight at her heart. In a moment it came. Philip had gone. By now Philip was far on his way to Chicago, and so out, into the distant West. There could be no longer any in- terest in any day for her. Cold water woke her thorough- ly; and she returned to her nest to play, drearily, with her food, till, when she had finished, Lucy returned, bear- ing with her a great bowl of red roses. At a little dis- iii THE FIRE OF SPRING = tance from the bed the maid halted, asking, with her eyes, for approval. Virginia smiled. " Are they fresh roses ? " she demanded, softly. " No, Madam. I saved them from the others. If you do not wish them " " Put them there on my desk. Now help me to dress." The morning was cold and blustery-gray. Virginia's spirits were at lowest level when, half an hour later, she wandered downstairs. How big, and empty, and desolate the house was ! Heavens ! Why had she not thought so before ? And why did no one come to see her ? Surely Marion might have been there oftener than she had, of late. Surely What was it, in Virginia's thoughts, that brought her to a standstill? Five minutes of hesitation, and then she ran to the telephone. Yes, Miss Hunt was in. Presently she was at the wire, but her preliminary " Hello ! " froze all the warmth out of Virginia's voice. No. She was afraid she should be unable to come out this morning. She was extremely busy. This afternoon ? Well, she hardly knew. Really, she had so much to do you see well, perhaps, if Vir- ginia insisted, she would try to run in just for a moment about four o'clock. But she couldn't say positively. Virginia's good-bye was short, and she walked slowly back into the drawing-room with a new expression on her face. What was the matter with Marion ? True, she had scarcely seen her friend for the last month or so ; but, till to-day, she had not thought about it. It had not occurred to her to want Marion before. Now, suddenly, she 112 THE FIRE OF SPRING began to want her very much. Was it possible could it be possible that she thought anything wrong? After an unpleasant hour, the young wife seated her- self at her piano, and remained there till luncheon-time. But she found that she could not play away the load upon her heart. That, alas ! had come to stay. Though Virginia, inexperienced in the ways of of- fended womanhood, had begun to doubt, Marion did come to see her that afternoon, arriving about half past three ; and the call, begun in constrained formality, really ended in renewed friendliness. For Marion did not " know anything," and her cause of offense rose largely from a feeling of pique that the Van Studdiford house had not been open to her lately ; and, added to this, there was a faint suspicion about Philip which Virginia's man- ner went far toward dispelling. By this, and one or two more visits, the old relationship was resumed; and, though she was this time unconscious of it, Marion served again in her old role of stop-gap: dispeller of Virginia's loneliness. The succeeding days were long and dull. Virginia had passed many like them in that house, but never with the same memories and the same dreams to make them difficult. If, up to the hour of his departure, she had rather played at being in love with Atkinson, or, perhaps, just at having him in love with her, she very soon per- ceived that separation had turned that pretense into real- ity. A hundred times a day she found her heart flaming up at thought of him. A hundred times a day she yearned to look at him, to hear his voice, to feel the pres- "3 THE FIRE OF SPRING = sure of his hand. She was uneasy and restless. All her pretty, natural pallor came back, and with it a little more that was not natural. She even lost something of her round contour, but not enough to make it noticeable. By the time April came in Virginia found that there was another consolation, another occupation, given her. On the second of the month, two weeks after he had left, she had her first letter from Philip. It was a curi- ous epistle : like, and yet unlike, the man. He, at any rate, had never before written one like it. It had been done not at all for effect, but because he found, to his aston- ishment, that she had fastened herself so upon both mind and heart that he could not resist the desire to give ex- pression to some of the thoughts that he dared not con- fide to any acquaintance, much less his staid companion, Fiirst. And the mailing of it, after long consideration, was due to a wish to make her think about him. He would have been well satisfied had he known how that letter was received : how Virginia pored over it, read and re-read it, and came to know the words so by heart that she never perceived how some of them had been worn illegible. It began abruptly: it ended without signature. But it was a love-letter, and she asked no more than that. "PH